Harry Potter-Granger and the Elixir of Life
by A.R. Joseph
Summary: One day, Mr and Mrs Granger find a young boy set on their doorstep. Ten years later, their son, Harry, and daughter, Hermione, embark on their first year at their new school, Hogwarts, a school for young witches and wizards, unaware of what adventure lies in store for them. / AU re-telling of "Philosopher's Stone".
1. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Delivery

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

AN: I know this has been done before, rewriting Harry Potter so that Hermione's parents adopt him rather than the Dursleys. But, even with all the previous attempts by others, I wanted to try my hand at it, and this is part of that result. I will try to keep as close to canon as possible, but I do know that this won't wind up being a Harry/Hermione thing. There will be a few OCs, but not too many. In regards to Hermione's parents, I do know that they were dentists in the original series; however, I changed those professions-to police officer and nurse, respectively-just for my own desire to make this story unique (at least, unique in my mind). Additionally, the names I gave them are my own invention and are in no way canon.

AN2: Any feedback would be most appreciated and I will gladly return the favor for your stories.

* * *

Chapter One  
**An Unexpected Delivery**

On the morning of the 1st of November, Detective Constable Laurence Granger, of the Metropolitan Police Service, opened the door to his home, eager to obtain the morning's edition of the _Times_ and peruse the stories printed therein, and most definitely get a crack at the crossword puzzle. A robust, broad-shouldered man of average height with bushy brown hair, he had been looking forward to the crossword all morning, given that it (along with a very strong cup of coffee) was his favourite way to start the day, but also because of the long night he and his wife had just had.

In truth, much of the day before had been most unusual. That might normally be said all the time about Halloween, but this time it was much more so. The whole day had been punctuated by a great many and highly unusual flocks of owls all around the country. And Laurence saw a great deal of them; in fact, what was more bizarre was that it seemed as if all of them were carrying what appeared to be letters and parcels. (_Parliament's busy today_, Laurence thought to himself, most amused.) Adding to that, multiple people were seen about Greater London—actually, all over the country, as Laurence would later find out at the end of his shift that day—dressed in what one of his colleagues referred to with a hoot as "something straight out of the Renaissance". Laurence knew all about everyone dressed in this manner. Around one in the afternoon, he had even kept a group of hooligans from antagonising one of them, a little man in a purple top hat. The man had been almost oblivious of the altercation, but did thank Laurence, followed by a string of babbling, which concluded with the little man saying "Such a paltry moment cannot bring down my spirits, sir, for today is the day that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has fallen." The little man bustled off before Laurence could ask him what he meant, but not before giving Laurence the strangest gold coin as a sign of thanks. The little man disappeared before Laurence could give it back to him, as he could not accept a gift while on duty. Laurence ultimately decided to keep it as an odd souvenir.

But, the biggest event of the day came later that night. Laurence had just come home to his wife, Jean, and young daughter, Hermione. Hermione was only two years old, but she was smart as a whip, already reading and eagerly poring over several books, mostly those of Dr. Seuss, but also Maurice Sendak's _Where the Wild Things Are_, and to Laurence and his wife's bemusement, Homer's _Iliad_, though she had not yet started on it. Ultimately, it was with a Dr. Seuss book that Laurence entertained his daughter before putting her to bed.

It was about 9:30 in the evening as he and Jean were tucking Hermione into bed. As they did that, several loud screeches and explosions and bright flashes startled all of them. Laurence dashed down the stairs and threw open the front door to find the perpetrators.

As he threw open the door, the first thought that came into his head was, _Damned idiots! Bonfire Night is NEXT WEEK!_

But, that thought very rapidly took a backseat as he found that someone in the vicinity had set off a large number of fireworks. No, "large" didn't even begin to describe it. The entire night sky was illuminated with bright bursts of almost every colour imaginable. And, somehow, it also illuminated every single star in the northern hemisphere that one would be able to see on a clear, unpolluted night sky. Soon, Jean joined him outside with Hermione in tow and the family gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the spectacle over their street. After a few minutes, Laurence swore he saw the fireworks take on the shapes of animals, both real and fictional, and that those facsimiles moved as though they were alive. Once the fireworks ended, the whole street cheered and applauded. Speaking to his wife later that night, she would confirm what he imagined to happen as she could barely believe her eyes as well. Both swore it was real; either that or someone had drugged the water supply for the neighbourhood and caused everyone to see something straight out of a movie like _Yellow Submarine_.

The whole display lasted about half an hour, and it took about another two hours to set Hermione back to bed, as she was too amazed by the fireworks that she was jabbering about them endlessly. Laurence had to read some of the _Iliad_ to her before she actually began dozing.

Yes, last night was something to behold. But now, with coffee brewing in the kitchen, Laurence was ready to step out into the crisp November morning and bring in his much-desired newspaper.

However, just before he crossed the threshold, his eyes fell upon the most unexpected thing. Someone had set a basket at the foot of his front door.

Quizzically gazing down upon this highly unexpected delivery, Laurence stepped over it and walked down the steps to look down the street and see if there were any indication of who left the basket there. The streets were deserted, with only a few cars parked on the curb, but no one else was outside yet. Laurence, not forgetting his desired objective, quickly picked up his newspaper, tucked it under his arm and returned his attention to the basket. A piece of paper was pinned to the blanket, a letter. It was addressed, in elegant green script, to "Detective Constable Laurence D. Granger & Nurse Jean R. Granger". He bent down cautiously, not wanting to agitate the contents lest they be unfriendly or, in the worst case, deadly. Just as his fingers were about to touch the blanket wrapped around its contents, something within the blanket shifted slightly. Laurence jumped back in surprise, nearly tumbling down the steps, not expecting any living thing to be resting within it. Gathering more courage to examine the basket's cargo, Laurence finally bent down again, pulled back the blanket slightly to reveal...a boy.

A baby boy, at least twelve months of age, with messy, jet black hair, sleeping peacefully in the basket. He was clothed and appeared to be well-fed and in good health. _Appeared_, Laurence thought, because his eyes quickly fell upon the boy's forehead, which bore a cut. A fresh one, from the looks of it, and an unusual one, as it took on the appearance of a lightning bolt. The cut began at the boy's hairline and arced downward until it ended just above the far point of his left eyebrow. But, despite that, there was nothing outwardly wrong with the boy.

He was beside himself with confusion. This was actually happening? _Something like this didn't happen in real life, _he thought. _Nobody just leaves a child on the doorstep of a complete stranger. Not without looking in on the family on whose doorstep you were leaving the child._ That thought sent chills down his spine. He worried about what this person, whoever they may be, saw in their home, and for how long that person watched his family. He stowed those thoughts and returned to the matter at hand, this child on his doorstep.

Laurence surveyed the street once more and still found no sign of human presence. So, he did the proper thing and picked up the basket, taking it into his home.

He walked to the kitchen and set down the basket gently at the kitchen table, unfastening the letter and tossing it along with the newspaper onto a counter. He poured himself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip of it, he went to fetch his magnifying glass, an anniversary gift from his wife while they were dating, from their office and started examining the basket, seeking any clue about who had left it. There was nothing on the outside of the basket to indicate who brought it to his home. He knew he had to get a look inside but did not want to risk waking the boy. He definitely wanted to make certain the cut was the only injury the boy had. But, in order to do that, he would need help to pick up the boy, ideally without waking him. There was only one person in this household who was the master at that: Jean.

Laurence made his way upstairs, making certain not to put his weight down on the creaky seventh step. Coming up to the master bedroom, Laurence walked in to see his wife still in bed, but awake.

"Morning," Jean muttered, still slightly groggy.

"You would not believe what happened last night," Laurence said to her, crouching down and brushing back some of his wife's honey blond hair.

"Darling," she grumbled, "I was awake last night. I saw the fireworks. Everyone on the street saw the fireworks. In fact, I'm fairly certain that everyone from the Orkneys to the Azores saw those bleeding fireworks."

"I'm not talking about that," Laurence said.

"Then, what are you talking about?" Jean mumbled, burying her head in the pillow. "It's too early to play games with me. Especially when I haven't had coffee."

"Someone left a baby boy on our doorstep."

Jean very quickly sat up, looking her husband square in the eye, and asked him in a most incredulous tone of voice, "A baby boy?"

"Yeah."

"You're putting me on."

"No, I'm not. There was a baby boy tucked to sleep in a basket and left on our doorstep as I went outside to get the paper."

"How old is he?" Jean asked, very suddenly concerned.

"Only about a year old, maybe a few months older."

"Did you bring him inside?"

"Yeah, I set the basket on the kitchen table. He looks fine, except for a cut on his forehead. He's sleeping right now."

Jean quickly got out of bed, draping a bathrobe over her and tying the sash once she was completely up and about. As she did, Hermione began crying. "Would you bring Hermione downstairs, and I'll check on this boy?" Jean said.

With that, she hurried out of the room. Laurence walked out of the bedroom and into Hermione's nursery. At the sight of her father, Hermione held out her arms and began to whine for her father to pick her up. Laurence happily acquiesced with a chuckle, taking his daughter into his arms. "Come here, pumpkin," Laurence said most affectionately as he scooped his daughter into his arms and gave her a peck on the cheek.

After quickly checking his daughter's nappy and replacing it with a fresh one, Laurence brought his daughter downstairs, humming a tune that made Hermione giggle. The father and daughter came into the kitchen to find Jean gazing down on the basket.

Looking up briefly at her husband and daughter, she walked over to Hermione, smiling sweetly, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She turned back to the boy and said, "This is the most unusual cut I've ever seen."

"How so?" Laurence asked, his interest piqued.

"Well, this sort of cut can't be made in one fell swoop, but, remarkably, this one was," Jean answered, very perplexed. "It's not made by a blade or anything like that. I have no idea what would leave a mark like that, if anything. It's just...done in one go by...something. I have no idea."

"Car crash, maybe?" Laurence proposed.

"Possibly, but I really couldn't say," Jean said. "You said this was the only injury you saw on him?"

"Yes," Laurence stated. "I wanted you to pick him up so we could see if he's got any other injuries and if there's anything else in the basket that can tell us who left him. There is a letter that was left with him. I didn't want to open it until you were up."

"Why on earth not?" Jean asked.

Laurence walked over to the newspaper and picked up the envelope for her to see to whom it was addressed. "It's addressed directly to you and I."

Jean picked up the sleeping boy, taking great care not to wake him.

Jean looked up at the letter in her husband's hand. She looked at Laurence, who had on his face a look of great concern while hers bore one of perplexity. Stowing that away for a moment, Jean returned her attention to the boy while Laurence took a quick look in the basket to see what else was within it, picking up the blanket, shaking it out, and peering into the bottom, but was left disappointed as nothing but the blanket rested inside. He passed the blanket to Jean, who lay the blanket on the table, set Harry very gently down upon it and began examining him.

"Daddee, who baby?" Hermione asked, as she saw her mother tending to a child she had never seen before.

"We don't know, pumpkin," Laurence said honestly to his child. "But we'll know soon enough."

He took a seat at the table with Hermione in his lap, opened the envelope, pulled out the letter within, and was about to begin reading, when his daughter tried to take it into her own hands, wanting to show her daddy she could read more than just the picture books read to her by her parents. "I wan' ree! Daddee, I wan' ree!" Hermione cried out, grasping for the paper her father held.

"Daddy is reading the letter, 'Mione," Laurence sternly said to his daughter. "You can look at the words as Daddy reads them." Hermione did not appear too pleased with that suggestion. However, it was apparent she reluctantly acquiesced to her father's edict.

Noting that, Laurence began reading the letter, "'Dear Mr and Mrs Granger..."

Laurence continued, "'Contained within this basket is a boy named Harry James Potter, born last year on the 31st of July. I profusely apologise for not addressing you in person with the monumental request I ask of you in this letter. However, it was very necessary to find a good home for him within what little time was available yesterday, and after exhausting all other options before coming to you, I have come to the decision that yours is the best place in which to raise young Harry.'"

Laurence quickly looked up at his wife, both of them shocked at the passage he just read. "That can't be what it says," Jean nearly shouted, remarkably without startling the boy awake.

"I'm reading it word for word, Jean," Laurence replied. "That's what's been written."

Jean turned back to Harry, checking his arms, legs, hands, and feet for possibly broken bones. Returning to the letter, Laurence continued, "'Very early yesterday morning, well before dawn, Harry's parents were most unfortunately taken from him. He was left orphaned until help came and I brought him to your door. Sadly, Harry has very little family that could open their door to him. Both sets of his grandparents have long since passed away and his father was an only child. His mother does have a _sister_..." Laurence's voice perked up at that bit of information, though it quickly vanished as he kept reading, "...but they have spoken very little to each other for the past four years, and her sister has been, at best, resentful toward her _since the age of eleven_!'"

Laurence could not contain his surprise at that tidbit of information, but still read on. "'Her husband has been just as hostile toward Harry's parents, if not more so, and would be adamantly opposed to taking in, and here I quote a story Harry's mother related of their only real encounter with each other of late, "a rabid stray from her lot". Thus, it is reasonable to assume that these relations of Harry's would not wish to deal with any news of his parents, let alone take him into their home. Suffice to say, I do not believe this branch of Harry's family tree is a suitable environment in which to raise him, nor is it a suitable environment in which to raise their own child.'"

"I'd have to agree," Jean said.

"Ditto," Laurence responded, before returning his attention to the letter. "'In regards to Harry's health, you will no doubt notice the cut on the boy's forehead. He gained this at the same time he lost his parents to the aforementioned tragic circumstances. Upon examination, it appears to be only superficial, but it will leave him with a scar for the rest of his life. Apart from that, Harry is in perfect health for a boy of his age. His parents looked after him and doted on him every chance they could. He has no ailments of any kind, and neither of his parents have any history of mental illness, diabetes, cancer, heart conditions, hypertension, or any known allergies. Probably the only thing that would hinder Harry in the near future would be his father's poor eyesight, which I would wager Harry will inherit as he bears an almost uncanny resemblance to his father, save for his eyes, which he inherited from his mother.'"

Upon Laurence finishing that passage, Harry finally stirred awake with a gurgle and opened his eyes to the woman cradling him. As she gazed down on the boy, Jean let out a small gasp as the young boy looked up with a pair of brilliant green orbs. Jean could barely keep her heart from leaping into her throat as she looked upon the raven-haired emerald-eyed boy on her table and a smile broke out across her face. Harry looked upon the woman in confusion, assessing whether this was his mother or not. Jean giggled at the sight of this boy. "Hi," she said giddily. "Hi, Harry."

Very shortly after waking, the boy's face scrunched up and he began bawling. Jean quickly picked up the child and began rubbing his back in the hopes of calming him. She made shushing noises as she walked around the kitchen while young Harry kept on crying, which made Hermione put her hands to her ears. Jean said softly over and over, "It's all right, darling. Don't cry. You're in good hands."

It took about ten minutes but Jean finally got Harry to calm down and soon after got a smile from the young boy. She brought the boy over to her husband and daughter. Harry let out a squeal of happiness as Hermione smiled at the boy and said, "Hi, Hawee!" Laurence chuckled as he gazed at the boy waving his hands at Hermione, nearly tangling his left hand in her already bushy brown hair.

With Harry finally calmed down, Jean got Harry out of his clothes and resuming examining him. She very quickly found herself relieved to find young Harry had no injuries, save for the cut on his forehead.

After Jean put Harry's clothes back on, she and Laurence moved into the sitting room. After Laurence set down a blanket and some toys, Jean set Harry very gently on the ground while Hermione clambered over to the baby boy and immediately began playing with him. As Laurence and Jean stepped over to the entryway, they continued their conversation in more hushed tones.

"What does the rest of it say?" Jean asked, pining for a more concrete answer.

Laurence flared out the letter and finished reading, "'I ask that you take Harry in as your own and care for him, as he truly deserves it. It is crucial that you do so within a day of reading this letter as he will not have any greater protection any other way.'"

"'Any greater protection'?" Jean queried. "From what?"

"I don't know," he replied. "That's all it says. It doesn't specify." He continued, "'He is a very special boy and he will amount to many great things in the future. Please care for him and give him a good home.'

"'I give you my greatest thanks and wish you both, your daughter, and young Harry many years of happiness.'

"'Yours, respectfully, Brian White.'" Laurence finished with a tone of confusion.

"I've never met anyone by that name," Jean said, mystified by the letter's conclusion.

"I haven't either," Laurence replied.

"Was there anything else in the basket?"

"Just Harry, the letter, its envelope, the blanket he was wrapped up in, and the clothes he's wearing."

"What are we going to do?"

"First, I'm going to call Neil," Laurence said, before picking up the telephone. "We need to find out as much as possible about his parents. And find Brian White, while we're at it."

* * *

Laurence and Jean sat at their sofa in the sitting room as Inspector Neil Roth read the letter, hoping to glean any other clues that Laurence and his wife might have missed. A tall, slender man with an aquiline nose and neatly coiffed sandy brown hair, Neil Roth was one of Laurence's best friends, newly promoted to Inspector and eager for further promotion within the Service. Lately, Neil was trying to prompt Laurence to do the same, at the very least to make Sergeant. But, Laurence playfully batted those encouragements of ambition away, as his mind was always more focused on his current work and his family. At present, though, it was more focused on the baby boy that made a sudden appearance at their home.

"Not much to go on here," Neil finally said, looking up from the correspondence. "I can take all this to Forensics. Maybe they can find something more from what you found. Questioned Documents would love to have a look at the letter and envelope."

Neil took a deep breath and asked, "You say your neighbours didn't see anyone set that basket at your front door?"

"I asked everyone I could this morning," Laurence answered. "No one saw a man, or anyone for that matter, even approach our house early this morning."

"And the baby's all right?" Neil asked Jean.

"There are no bruises or broken bones," Jean explained. "Nothing that indicates he was maltreated. He's right as rain, save for that cut he got some time yesterday. The letter said it was around the time his parents died..."

Neil took a seat in the chair to the left of the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a brief moment before returning his attention to Laurence, who asked, "Anything come up on the boy?"

Neil quickly answered, "We're checking if anyone has filed any report of a missing child named Harry James Potter, and we're also looking for 'Harold James Potter', 'Harrison James Potter', 'Henry James Potter', and any other variation that comes to mind. There's been nothing so far."

"What about Harry's parents?"

"I don't know how soon we'll find them. All we truly know about them is that their surname is Potter and that the mum has green eyes and the dad's got black hair. We are checking the morgues, but if we had first names to add to that, we could find them much more quickly. With what we have now, it would take a while to run down a match."

Neil looked over at the two children playing and smiled.

"Are you two absolutely certain you haven't met anyone by the name of Potter in the past few days or weeks, or in your school years?" Neil said, turning back to the Granger parents.

"No," Laurence and Jean said simultaneously.

"And no relatives or distant relations by that name?" Neil asked, to which the Grangers shook their heads. "And the same goes for anyone named Brian White?"

"I haven't had any school friends by those names, nor any relatives," Jean replied. "Laurence hasn't either."

"I was thinking Brian White might be an alias," Laurence mused. "I've got a feeling a search will turn up a long list of people with the same name."

"Why put down an alias if you're asking someone to do this?" questioned Jean.

"Maybe he's responsible for what happened to Harry's parents."

"Laurence, please don't talk like that," Jean said in a worrying tone.

"Well, we can't really rule it out," Laurence said.

"As much as I agree with your sentiments, I have to agree even more with Jean," Neil stated. He held up the letter and added, "He speaks of them fondly in here, like he cared deeply about them all. Why would he do that?"

"Jealousy, maybe?"

Neil and Jean could only give an odd look to Laurence.

Laurence threw up his hands, and cried, "Look, I know it's nothing but conjecture, but what else can we think? That boy was stripped of his parents and his home by somebody or something, and we know nothing about them, or their family. And until we learn otherwise, I can't justifiably rule that out."

"Maybe not," Neil replied. "But, you can't deny it sounds like he cared about Harry and his parents in the letter."

"If he cared about them so much, why not take Harry in himself?" Laurence asked in frustration.

"You read it yourself. He says he 'exhausted all other options' before coming to us," Jean said. "Stands to reason he thought himself one of those options."

This answer left Laurence without a retort. It was a good reason for Brian White not to take the boy in himself, but without knowing for certain the motives of Brian White, it was still just idle speculation.

"When is Child Protection coming?" Laurence queried, turning to Neil.

"It should be another half an hour," Neil answered. "I'll stick around with you until they get here." Neil looked once more upon the children. Harry seemed to be drifting off, as did Hermione. The fact wasn't lost on Jean as she bent down to pick up both children. Laurence quickly got up to help her and took Harry as she passed him off.

"Look, Larry," Neil began, using the nickname Laurence would have hated anyone but Neil and Jean if they used it when speaking to him. "I'm certain you don't want to hear this, but I think you should do what the letter says."

Laurence looked at his friend as if he just said Laurence should jump into the Thames in the middle of winter.

"You're joking, right?" Laurence said to his friend, shocked at the suggestion made.

"Come on, Laurence," Neil lamented. "You know how bad some of those foster homes can be. Not to mention, you hear some of the horror stories that come out of places like Wool's Orphanage? No, Harry is better off with you. With you two as his parents and with a sibling like Hermione."

"Neil—" Laurence started, before his friend cut him off.

"This Brian White bloke chose you," Neil continued. "He must have watched you being a mum and dad to Hermione before he even considered setting the basket down at your door. He saw you both for what you were. Deeply caring, loving parents. The kind that really would give a child like Harry a good home. And I know you can."

What Neil had said left a sick feeling Laurence's gut as he pondered his friend's words.

"All I'm saying is that you should think about it," Neil added, sensing his friends' trepidation toward the suggestion. Neil slipped the letter and envelope into a large brown envelope and placed it inside the empty basket atop the blanket.

"Do you mind if I visit the loo?" Neil asked.

Laurence gestured vaguely behind him and Neil went quickly to the lavatory.

While they waited for Neil to return, and for Child Protection to arrive, they took Harry and Hermione to Hermione's room, moving silently, contemplatively, and set the two children down for a nap.

Laurence and Jean did want to have another child. They had spoken about the subject on multiple occasions, between themselves and with Neil on one occasion. Laurence always did want a son, or another daughter, he wasn't very picky. Jean was just the same in those regards, though she was more keen on having a boy than another girl. Ideally, though, they were waiting until Hermione was a little bit older before they would really consider it.

They didn't speak, until Jean spoke up. "We always wanted to have another child."

"Yeah, the traditional way," Laurence quickly retorted. "Not like this."

"I know," Jean conceded, "but that doesn't mean we can't try again later."

"Jean," Laurence began, before his wife cut him off and spoke.

"This boy needs a home, Larry. I can't just cast him out. Neither of us can."

With a sigh of resignation, Laurence looked upon the sleeping boy. His wife was right. He couldn't just bring this boy into his home, and then turn him away to complete strangers. Not that they weren't complete strangers to the child themselves. But, they couldn't leave this boy to another family. Not after he had lost so much. His parents, his home. They did owe it to Harry to give him that.

"Whoever this Brian White person, is, I seriously hope he knew what he was doing," Laurence said.

"He must have," Jean replied. "This isn't a decision you make lightly."

* * *

Sure enough, two social workers from Child Protection came within a half-hour and took twice that time examining Harry and questioning Laurence and Jean about everything they knew about the boy. Neil spoke with the social workers about the letter and the beginnings of his investigation into finding Harry's parents, his relations, and Brian White before wishing Laurence and Jean well and excusing himself. Seemingly satisfied with the answers they had been given, the social workers spoke among themselves in hushed tones. Laurence listened as surreptitiously as he could.

From what he heard, he quickly began to worry. The social workers spoke of where they ought to put Harry, but from their tone, he inferred that they spoke not of what would be best for him, but what would be most convenient for them. The entire conversation finally took hold of him and Jean, both of them wanting to kick the two people out and keep the boy as their own. Laurence felt the innate need to stay his tongue as the social workers' conversation, until one of them said something that Laurence could not keep from speaking up.

"I heard that Wool's has a few openings," the younger of the two uttered.

The moment he did so, Laurence and Jean shot each other a frightened look. They had to step in and keep Harry with them.

So, Laurence spoke up. "Excuse me," he said at the top of his voice.

The social workers turned to him, looking slightly bewildered. "Is the letter that was included with the boy a non-issue?"

"Well, of course not," the first social worker said. "But, seeing as neither you nor your wife are blood relatives, we can't really justify placing him in your care."

"If the letter were written by the boy's parents or by the executor of their estate," the second social worker added, "you would naturally be allowed to take legal custody of him as was stated in the letter. But, as that's not the case, and as there's no proof that this Brian White was their executor, we have to take the boy with us."

"Please don't," Jean said impulsively.

"We're sorry," the first social worker said. "Our hands are tied. We have to take him with us."

"Perhaps we could make it legal in some way," Laurence said. "Perhaps, we could fill out some paperwork to become foster parents before we go through the proper adoption process."

The social workers looked at each other and began a rapid whispered conversation. Laurence looked over at Jean and saw her smiling sweetly at him, which quickly spread to his own face. The social workers quickly stated that that was more than helpful to Harry (thought Laurence was certain they meant it was more than helpful to the both of them). Another hour and a half after that, Laurence and Jean had filled out everything form the social workers set in front of them, writing down every pertinent fact about the both of them and their own child. Once everything was done, they shook hands with the social workers, who then left, and quickly embraced each other, overjoyed at the fact that they now had a son to add as part of their family. They soon went upstairs once they heard both children waking and brought them downstairs to celebrate.

* * *

From the window outside the sitting room at the front of the house, a man watched the family welcome their newest member. If the family had looked up at the window, or if someone from outside gazed in the direction of the window, they would not see him, as he had cast several powerful charms upon himself to ensure he remained invisible to all. If he were visible, one would see an old man with long silver hair and beard and a crooked nose upon which half-moon glasses rested. His attire would be considered odd and receive stares from passersby, as he was dressed in deep purple robes adorned around the waist with yellow moons of every phase and black leather boots with silver buckles.

At the moment, the old man was caught up with the joyful sight of the Grangers welcoming their new son and brother into their home. Hermione was especially gleeful at the prospect of having a baby brother, as she hugged her new brother constantly. Jean doted on Harry as well, ruffling his hair and blowing raspberries onto his skin, which made the boy giggle and squeal. But, the most satisfying reaction came from Laurence, who took Harry in his arms and began playing with him as he would his own son. He would toss Harry into the air and catch him, much to Harry's amusement and Jean's apprehension, again and again. When the time came for all to go to bed, Laurence and Jean settled Hermione and Harry into the crib in Hermione's room, just for the time being until they could get a new crib for Harry.

When the lights went out in the house, the old man checked his watch. To any other person, it would make no sense as the watch had seven hands and was circled by all sorts of planets. But, it apparently did make sense to the old man, as he tucked the watch back in his pocket, pulled a wand out of his other pocket, and began casting spells around the house. When he was done, he stepped back, satisfied by his good work, and whispered under his breath, "Good luck, Harry...", before he disappeared on the spot.

* * *

AN: Hopefully, you enjoyed this. If so, please let me know, and I'll post some more.


	2. Chapter 2: A Ruckus in the Reptile House

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

AN: So, here's Chapter 2. I decided to keep dentistry in as part of the Granger family history for this story with Mr & Mrs Granger's parents being dentists. Also, I re-edited Chapter 1 because I realized I forgot some things, but nothing that would alter anything major. Anyway, Chapter 2, please read and review. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and everyone who followed and Favorited the story as well.

* * *

Chapter Two  
**A Ruckus in the Reptile House**

_The sound of the motorcycle's engine was making Harry feel sleepy. At least, he thought it was a motorcycle, like the one his uncle had. The big man kept looking forward. His bushy black hair and bushy black beard gathered moisture as he drove on, the stars and clouds flying by over his head. He was flying, just like Daddy would do with him some nights, like on his birthday, with the big chocolate cake, and then Daddy took him flying for the very first time. Then, Mummy got cross with Daddy and yelled, then took him into her arms and whispered he was all right when he already felt all right._

_Where were Mummy and Daddy?_

_Why was he with the big bushy man?_

_Harry couldn't tell what the big man was thinking. His eyes were covered by goggles and he looked straight forward, not looking down on him . He didn't know whether he should like this man or not. He swore he had seen the big man before, just not in this situation. Was the big man taking him to Mummy and Daddy?_

_Soon, the big man looked down on Harry and smiled warmly, his beard twitching affectionately. He said, in a voice Harry found trusting and comforting, "Just a little farther, Harry. You'll be safe and sound in no time." But, it also sounded sad, like something bad had happened._

_Soon, Harry felt himself drift off to sleep. He always fell asleep on long journeys like this. How long were they flying for? It felt like ages. But, that didn't matter. All that mattered was sleep._

_But, soon, very soon, it found him again. The green light. It always found him when he slept. And just as always, it came rushing and screeching at him, as ruthless and malevolent as always, and then—_

* * *

Harry awoke, cold sweat dripping off his skin, his breath heavy and rapid. The green light. It was the green light again. When he had bad dreams, it was almost always the green light that startled him awake.

Harry reached for his glasses on his bedside table and put them. Looking over at his digital alarm clock, the time read 2:17 am. This was the oddest part of this dream. It always startled him awake at the exact same time. Seventeen minutes past two in the morning, every time he had this dream that always horrified him. _I suppose at least this stupid dream is consistent,_ Harry crossly thought to himself. Harry threw off the covers and got up. The room had an eerie feel after he had this dream. He had only a bookshelf stocked with a plethora of science-fiction, fantasy, and mystery novels, a desk, a night stand, and a lamp. But, it always made Harry feel at home. He left his room and sullenly padded down the steps to the kitchen.

Nearly ten years had passed since that day the Grangers brought Harry Potter into their home. The pictures in the home of Laurence and Jean Granger quickly came to reflect how proud they were to have a son. Pictures of Laurence teaching seven-year-old Harry and Hermione to fish accompanied pictures of three-year-old Harry "helping" Jean with the gardening on the mantle. Pictures of Hermione and Harry laughing while playing football (Harry was naturally winning, as Hermione was not nearly as fond of sports as her brother was) adorned the wall near Laurence's office and hung side by side with photos of the many birthday parties and holidays that the family attended.

Within Laurence's office, there were photos of his wedding to Jean, of the birth of their daughter, his promotion from Constable to Sergeant, then a few years after from Sergeant to Inspector.

Directly over Laurence's desk hung a framed letter, the letter that was included with Harry when he was left on their doorstep and its envelope. Laurence always looked up at it with a commingling sense of fondness and uneasiness. Fondness for the son his family gained, uneasiness for the circumstances that brought his son to their home.

The Grangers were always happy with Harry as part of their brood, and they never made him feel left out or out of place. When he was seven, he finally spoke to his parents about whether on not he was adopted. He had suspected for about a year that he was, having grown up around people with bushy brown or wavy honey blond hair, brown or blue eyes, rather large front teeth (in the case of Jean and Hermione), and either robust or slender frames, while he bore messy jet black hair, green eyes, relatively normal teeth, and a skinnier figure than the rest of his family. In addition to that, and most obvious to Harry, he realised he had the surname "Potter" while the rest of his family was named "Granger".

When he brought it up, his parents were most candid with Harry, explaining the circumstances in which they found him and the letter that was left with him. They went over how Laurence had tried to find them, and the man who set him at their door, to no avail and that, most likely, his parents were deceased. When Harry asked his adoptive parents asked why they didn't give him their name, they explained they thought it would be doing an injustice to his parents, seeing as they loved him and cared about him. Laurence and Jean stressed that they loved him and that they were his family, and always would be. The next month, on Harry's eighth birthday, Laurence sat Harry down and asked if he wanted to their name instead of that of his birth parents'. Though Harry wanted that very dearly, he didn't want to disrespect his birth parents either, and thus asked, hesitantly, if he could have both. So, Laurence took Harry to have his name changed to Harry James Potter-Granger.

Harry came into the kitchen and brought down the chamomile tea his mother would make him whenever he awoke from this dream. He took out the kettle, filled it, and set it on the front burner. Turning on the stove, he left it to boil and went to prepare his tea and some crackers, as he felt his stomach grumbling.

A creak from upstairs caught Harry's attention. He must have woken someone else up. He really didn't want to do that. He was hoping he could deal with this on his own, just for tonight, just for one night without anyone fretting about him. Hermione walked into the kitchen, wearing a grey nightgown, her hair bushier than usual, her eyes bleary from being woken up so early. Despite how early she had been woken up, Hermione was more concerned about her brother's well-being than anything else.

"Bad dream?" Hermione asked, with great concern.

Harry didn't want to go over this again. But, he knew Hermione would keep asking him if he were all right until she got a concrete answer. Either that or she'd tell their mum or dad, or both of them, that Harry had had another bad dream that woke him in the dead of night, and he'd have to speak with both of them. Harry could muster only a nod of his head and sat at the table.

"What was it this time?"

"What do you think?" Harry muttered.

"The green light again?" Hermione asked. Again, Harry only gave a nod of his head.

The green light was a sore subject in the Granger household. One could use the phrase "green light" in normal conversation without provoking a reaction. But, when someone said "the green light", that meant the part of Harry's dreams that caused him to wake up in almost abject horror. When he was a toddler, his parents could only guess what frightened their son. As he grew older, they learned what it was and sought specialists to help him overcome it. The best answers they could come up with was that it had something to do with his birth parents' death. Laurence and Jean didn't need a doctor's opinion to be told that.

For the most part, Harry had the dream less often, on average once every two months, but he was still highly unsettled whenever it occurred. The worst time he experienced it was always on Halloween. 2:17 am on the morning of 31st of October every year, Harry would wake up screaming and thrashing in his bed, and could only be consoled by his mother, held close and comforting words whispered in his ear. It was not a day the family ever looked forward to.

Despite all these bad dreams, Harry grew to be a kind-hearted, gregarious, and happy young boy, if at times overly rambunctious, and prone to hot-headed behaviour.

The tea kettle began to whistle, and Harry dashed to take it off the stove and turn off the stove in one go.

"Did you want some?" he asked her, remembering that Hermione was now up with him. She shook her head and he poured the water for his tea. Harry left it to steep and brought the tea and crackers to the table. Hermione joined him, not taking her eyes off him.

"It shouldn't affect me. It's just a bright flash of green light," he pondered.

"Was there anything that happened before it?" Hermione asked.

"I was on a motorcycle," Harry said. "At least, I think it was a motorcycle. There was a giant man driving it. He had this great big bushy beard and bushy black hair, and he was wearing goggles as he drove us. The weirdest thing was, I think I know him. Knew him, I mean. Or, at least, I saw him before."

"Did he say anything? The man in the dream?"

"He said, 'Just a little farther, Harry. You'll be safe and sound in no time.'"

"That's all he said?"

"That's all."

"What happened after he spoke?"

"I drifted to sleep in the dream. Then, the green light came rushing back again, and then I woke up."

"Do you think maybe it's not a dream?" This got an odd glance from Harry. "Maybe it's a memory."

"I don't see how," Harry explained. "The motorcycle was flying through the air."

"Maybe...he was the inventor of a flying motorcycle," Hermione suggested.

This was a common tack taken by the family. They would always try to have Harry either figure out how a dream was the way it was or come up with an interesting backstory to the dream that took place before the green light occurred. That strategy worked once more, as Hermione's suggestion brought a confused smile to Harry's lips.

"Why would you invent a flying motorcycle and not share it with the world?"

"Can you think of how many people would want one?" Hermione responded. "Everyone would want one. Wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would."

"See? The demand would be mad." The siblings laughed as silently as they could without waking their parents.

"I'll get you one for your birthday," Harry chuckled.

"I'll beat you to it," she replied.

Harry sipped his tea, falling deep in thought about his dream. Had it been a memory, not a dream? There was no way. Motorcycles didn't fly. That went against the laws of physics. Not to mention, motorcycles weren't all that aerodynamic. But, had he seen the big bushy man before? On the television? As a baby? _It must have been when I was a baby_, Harry thought. _I felt like I was an infant in the dream_.

"We should get to bed," Hermione said. "Granddad Andy is supposed to be coming tomorrow."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Harry conceded, draining the last of his tea and setting the cup in the sink. The siblings walked up the stairs. Hermione gave her little brother a hug and whispered "Good night", before she went to her room. Harry closed the door to his room, fell upon the bed and drifted off into a deep sleep that wasn't plagued by the green light.

* * *

The next morning, both Hermione and Harry got up immediately and dashed downstairs. Jean poured them each a bowl of cereal with fresh fruit, which they ate voraciously, despite Jean's exhortations about table manners. Ten minutes after breakfast, the doorbell rang, and Harry ran up to answer it. He threw the door open and was greeted by his grandfather, Andrew Wilkins.

Jean's parents were highly surprised, but incredibly happy to see a grandson added to their list of people upon whom they could dote. Laurence's parents were equally surprised, but more than ecstatic to hear about it as well. And Harry was quickly greeted as if he were one of the family from the moment he was born, especially by Granddad Andy.

"There's my grandson!" Granddad Andy cried, as he took his grandson into a giant hug. Harry laughed as his grandfather lifted him off the ground and swung him about in his arms. Hermione dashed up to her Granddad and he gave her the same treatment, to which she was just as ecstatic to receive. "And Hermione! My brilliant little girl!"

Jean came into the room, gazing fondly on her father with her children.

"Dad," Jean said, coming into the sitting room, "thanks again for spending the day with them."

"Oh, think nothing of it," Andy said. "I'm always eager to see my grandkids."

Looking up, Andy took notice of his daughter dressed in her scrubs.

"You're off to work?" he asked, as if expecting a different answer.

"Yes, Dad," Jean said. "St. John's Hospital, just like always."

Andy was a dentist by trade. Coincidentally, Laurence's parents were both dentists themselves and Andy and they always referred to each other, ever since Laurence and Jean got married, as "friendly competitors". Both parents had tried to encourage their children to take up their trade, but something had possessed both Laurence and Jean to take up professions far different from their parents. Laurence leaned toward law enforcement, while Jean preferred to stay within the realm of medicine, as a nurse.

When Laurence and Jean first met, at a matinee showing of Shakespeare's _A Winter's Tale_, they traded stories of their parents and their tendencies to keep them away from sweets and always to floss your teeth. Laurence's parents were fairly strict with their grandchildren about their dental hygiene, worrying that Laurence would neglect everything they had instilled in him. Remarkably, though, despite how stringent Andy had been with his own daughter, he was rather lax with telling the same to Hermione and Harry.

"You ought to get a different job, Jeanie," Andy said. "That pretty face deserves better than spending day and night around blood and guts."

"But it's perfectly suited to spending all day around gingivitis and halitosis, is it?" Jean riposted.

"Better hours," her father replied cheekily, almost as if he were trying to sell a used car.

"I have to get to work," she laughed, rolling her eyes at her father's continued attempts to get her a job at his office. "Kids, give your mum a hug."

Hermione and Harry ran up to Jean, and both hugged her, and returned theirs twofold. Standing up again, she took on a strict demeanour. "Now," she said, "both of you behave yourselves. If your granddad asks you to do something, you listen. Got it? And no mischief." The last part was directed solely at Harry.

"Mum, when have we gotten into mischief?" Harry questioned.

"I can recall a few instances," Jean recollected. "Like, how did your teacher's hair turn blue?"

"I was nowhere near her when that happened," Harry cried.

"Or when you wound up on the roof of the school?"

"I keep telling you, I don't know how I got there."

"Stay out of trouble," Jean finally said, a slight smile hidden behind her demeanour. She kissed the foreheads of both her children, before turning to her father, giving him a peck on the cheek, and bidding everyone adieu.

Once she was gone, Granddad Andy bent down, and said, "Who wants to go to the zoo?"

The children let out a cheer of approval, ran to get their coats, and within fifteen minutes, they were off.

* * *

The zoo was bustling with families, enjoying the warm sunshine. Toddlers carried brightly coloured balloons. Workers dressed in garish animal costumes walked about the entrance, waving to everyone. The family went straight for the primates' section, looking upon the great apes, especially the orangutans, with keen interest. At the sight of the first ice cream stand, Granddad Andy promptly bought his grandchildren chocolate ice creams.

"Don't tell your mum," Granddad Andy whispered wryly, knowing his daughter would have kittens at the thought of her children having more sweets than was healthy. At the zoo restaurant, the Granger children and their grandfather each got hamburger sandwiches with chips and cola. A few tables over, a family was bemoaning the fact that their son's Knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream and demanded another most vociferously. The father was very portly (though if asked Granddad Andy, that would be putting it politely) with a great big mustache, as was his son, who wore a multicoloured striped shirt that reminded Harry very strongly of a giant beach ball, minus the mustache. The mother looked as skinny as a beanpole, with much more neck than any human being should be afforded. The kids and Granddad Andy looked upon the family with disapproval.

The time after the zoo restaurant was enjoyable, given that they were nowhere near the loud family from the restaurant. The birds were singing loudly in the aviary. Harry and Hermione got to see okapis and llamas and the elephants were out bathing and sprayed water from their trunks at the spectators.

They made their way to the reptile house, their last stop before they went home. As soon as they entered the reptile house, Harry felt his good mood lessen considerably as he watched the obnoxious fat boy and his family observing one of the larger snakes.

"Make it move," the boy cried.

The father knocked on the glass and grunted, "Move." Still, the snake did not move.

The boy slammed both hands on the glass and shouted, "MOVE!" Yet again, the snake did not respond. The boy muttered angrily, "He's boring," before the family moved along to the rest of the reptile exhibits.

Granddad Andy, Hermione, and Harry walked up to the boa constrictor's display. The snake was asleep, or appeared to be asleep. Turning back to look at the family before them, Andy muttered, "Some people just don't know how to behave in public."

Looking at the snake, he added, "If I were that snake, I'd be trying to attack that boy."

"I think he'd be amused about seeing that," Hermione said.

"You're probably right," Granddad Andy said, moving on to other animals in the reptile house. Harry stayed, looking in on the snake.

"You must get that a lot," Harry wondered aloud. "People banging on the glass all day while you're trying to get a nap in."

To Harry's surprise, the snake raises its head, looked squarely at Harry, and nodded fervently.

"Can you hear me?" Harry asked, in total astonishment. The snake nodded again.

"Can you...understand me?" Harry asked, his astonishment growing. The snake nodded once more.

Harry looked around, hoping that no one else was seeing this. He decided he'd try to have a conversation with the Boa. "So...where are you from?"

The snake jabbed its tail at a sign to the left of its habitat. It read: Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?" Harry asked. The snake jabbed its tail a bit lower to another sign that read "Bred in captivity."

"I guess we have that in common," Harry said, relating to the snake's life. "I never knew my parents either." The conversation was cut short by the footfalls of the fat boy that banged on the glass.

"Mum! Dad! You won't believe what the snake is doing!" the fat boy cried.

Hermione and Granddad Andy turned from the banded krait's terrarium to see the fat boy elbow Harry hard in the side of the head in order to see the Boa constrictor. That sent Harry falling to the hard concrete floor. What happened next was a blur. Harry hit the floor hard, his glasses falling from his face and skidding a few feet away. He felt Granddad Andy and Hermione over him, offering to help him to his feet. Next, he heard a scream and a splash. Hermione had handed him his glasses, and then once they were firmly on his face, he found himself face to face with the giant snake. It appeared entirely placid and seemed to regard Harry as a good friend, while Hermione and Granddad Andy looked upon it in apprehension.

"Thanksss," the snake seemed to say, before slithering away and saying what sounded like, "Brazil, here I come!"

Everyone in the reptile house erupted in screams as the Boa constrictor slithered its way outside, hissing in sheer joy.

"Mummy! Mummy! Help me!" the fat boy cried. Harry looked up to see that the boy was trapped inside the Boa constrictor's habitat instead of the snake. The parents screamed as their child was trapped inside, desperately trying to get past the glass separating them. Granddad Andy lifted his grandson onto his feet, and said, most urgently, "We best make ourselves scarce, kids."

Grabbing Hermione as well, the old man and his grandchildren bustled out of the reptile house with the rest of the patrons. Just as they got a few feet away from the reptile house, a security guard stepped in front of them, dour and angry.

"Would you come with me, please?" he asked.

* * *

The recording from the CCTV system showed the fat boy, who apparently was named Dudley, though Harry heard the boy's mother call him something akin to "Dinky Diddums", hit Harry in the side of the head. Hermione and Granddad Andy dashed to help Harry as the boy named Dudley gawked at the snake. Hermione picked up Harry's glasses and looked up at the boy, most likely glaring at the boy that hurt her brother. Then, the glass disappeared and the boy fell face first into the terrarium.

"There he falls into the snake's pen," the head of security said. Someone had called the police in the panic and, somehow, word got back to Laurence. Laurence left the precinct, embarrassed, but more concerned about the well-being of Harry, Hermione, and Granddad Andy. Along the way, he passed on word to his wife, who, while worried about health of her children and her father, let out a groan of exasperation at the first mention of the day's events. Laurence sat and impassively watched the video of the day's events.

"The snake gets loose, looks at your boy, leaves them all be, and breaks for freedom. The boy gets trapped in there." He turned off the recording and looked upon the Grangers with the utmost seriousness. "You understand how this looks."

"It looks as though you're grasping for straws," Laurence said, in a most matter-of-fact tone.

"Your son and the rest of them," the head of security growled, gesturing vaguely toward Granddad Andy and Hermione, "looked the snake square in the eye, and weren't harmed at all. Not to mention, it looked as though he was talking to the thing beforehand. Seems very suspicious to me."

"My son was hit in the head by that other boy," Laurence chastised the head of security. "What's happening about that?"

"We've got a python on the loose," the head of security shouted. "And your boy had something to do with it."

"It was a Boa constrictor, not a python," Granddad Andy interjected.

"Oh, that makes a world of difference, doesn't it?" the head of security yelled back.

"It does if you work at a zoo," Granddad Andy countered snidely.

"Did you even think of how dangerous this sort of stunt would be? What if that bloody thing had got a hold of a child out there?"

"I didn't do it!" Harry cried desperately.

"I don't see how he could have," Hermione shouted, leaping to Harry's defence. "That boy hit Harry in the head and knocked him to the floor. He had no time to get rid of that glass, and no means to do it either."

"And his glasses fell off his face," Granddad Andy tagged on to his granddaughter's argument. "He wouldn't have been able to see anything."

"And you do have to ask yourself," Laurence asked brusquely, "how exactly could my son make a glass partition disappear as he lay on the ground, nursing a blow to the head?"

That left the head of security at a loss for an explanation.

"If all you can do is sit there with your mouth agape," Laurence stated, "we will take our family home and deal with this at home."

As the family got up to leave, the head of security stood up and added, "You'll understand that your son is banned from this zoo."

"We will contest that decision."

"You're welcome to try."

The Grangers left without a further word. As they left, Harry looked upon the boy named Dudley, wrapped in a towel and gibbering, and his family and found himself thinking, _They could be a good family, if they weren't so horrible_.

* * *

Harry rode with his father, while Hermione rode with Granddad Andy. The drive from the zoo was silent, neither person said a word. Once the Grangers got home, Laurence turned to Harry, looking down upon him with his sternest demeanour. "Did you have something to do with that snake getting loose?"

"No, I didn't," Harry cried once more, getting tired of having to defend himself.

"You're not talking to some guard. You're talking to me, Harry. Did you have anything to do with it?"

"Larry," Granddad Andy, said, stepping in, "he didn't—"

"Andrew, please," Laurence stopped his father-in-law's statement, raising a hand without taking his eyes off his son. "Harry, did you let that snake out of its habitat?"

"You saw that I didn't!" Harry shouted.

"I also saw that you couldn't have broken onto the roof of your school, but you still got up there, didn't you?" his father retorted.

As much as Harry wanted to argue with that, he couldn't find any argument that he hadn't already made that would sway his father's opinion.

"You are grounded for a month," Laurence exclaimed.

"A month?!"

"Be thankful it's not for a year. Now, go to your room."

"I didn't do anything," Harry pleaded.

"Go to your room!" Laurence pointed straight upstairs, his face stern and unmoving. Harry stomped up the stairs in frustration. He went into his room and slammed the door. Throwing himself onto his bed, Harry mulled over the day's events again and again. He didn't have anything to do with that snake's escape, except for being in the path of that stupid Dudley boy.

All Harry could do for the rest of the night was lay on his bed and run it over and over in his head. No matter from whichever angle he imagined it, he still couldn't explain exactly what happened, and he worried he never would.

* * *

AN: I'll be making some requests for betas. If anyone wants to step up to help, I'd be grateful.

_AN (7/9/2013): Made changes to better reflect presence of Laurence and remember that Jean was at work, like I had her saying earlier. I knew this part was a little off. Thanks to Nanettez for pointing that out._


	3. Chapter 3: Letters & Late-Night Caller

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Chapter Three  
**The Letters and the Late-Night Caller**

_The street was empty, not even cars parked at the curb, mist hanging just above the street. The streetlights cast a yellow glow over everything. Owls flew overhead, owls of all varieties, all clutching something in their beaks or talons. They looked like letters and parcels, maybe a vole every now and then._

_Harry looked up the street. Suddenly, he realised he held something in his hand. It looked like a cigarette lighter, silver in colour and, most likely, material. He knew his mother and father looked down on smoking and would ground him even more if they saw him holding it, but something felt different about this one. He flicked it once, and the light closest to his right flew from the lamp and into the lighter. Harry, awestruck, flicked it again. The light to his left flew from its lamp into the lighter. Harry was elated he had something so amazing in his hands. He flicked it once more and the next light on the right flew into the lighter. He did this again and again gleefully._

_Harry flicked the lighter a twelfth time. The light at the far end of the street flew from its lamp. Soon, Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Terror flooded his mind as he saw the light changed from yellow to green. Harry stood, rooted to the spot, paralysed with fear. The light surged forward, evil and terrible as always—_

* * *

He shot up in his bed, wide-eyed with fright. The green light came back again, for the second night in a row. _That's troubling_, he thought to himself. _Should I tell Mum and Dad? Will they care? Of course they will. They always care. They always will, even after what happened at the zoo._

He got out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. As he did so, murmuring from his parents' bedroom caught his ear.

"A month, Laurence?" Harry heard his mother say. "Isn't that more than a bit strict?"

"He had something to do with it, Jean," Laurence retorted.

"Yes, he got hit in the head by a horrible boy and you're grounding him."

"He set a snake loose."

"You honestly don't believe that?"

"He's got into mischief before."

"Yes, mischief, not endangering the general public."

"Jean—"

"I refuse to believe my son did this, especially considering the evidence you bore witness to. Why can't you?"

With a sigh, Laurence explained, "So many bizarre things happen around Harry. I love him dearly, you know that. But, all those bizarre things, getting onto the roof of his school, turning Ms Pettyfer's hair blue, this bit with the snake, all of them had only one thing in common: Harry. I don't think he's a delinquent, far from it, but I think he's able to do some amazing things without meaning to."

"What, like magic?" Jean asked, utterly disbelieving. "You do realise how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I know," Laurence said, almost defeated. He added, "But, freak accidents don't just happen. Glass partitions don't just disappear and reappear on their own. And you remember that one time his hair returned to normal after he got Hermione to cut it? Explain that."

Harry remembered that. Other kids at his school had made fun of his scar and his messy hair. He couldn't figure a way to make either disappear permanently, so he tried to cut off his hair, leaving just enough to cover his scar. But, because he couldn't get to it at the back, he asked Hermione to do that for him. When his parents came home and saw what their children had done, both parents shouted themselves hoarse and sent their children to their rooms without dinner. Hermione was in tears, and Harry felt worse, having made himself look more ridiculous than before, and bringing his sister down with him.

The next morning, when Harry came down for breakfast, the family stared agog at him, and Harry soon realised that his hair was back to normal, as if the day before had never happened. The entire family was dumbfounded at the sudden return of Harry's hair, so much so that any and all future punishments were quickly forgotten.

"But, if that's the case, why are you punishing him if he can't control it?" his mother asked his father, bringing Harry back to the present.

"What else would a responsible parent do?"

"They'd let up," Jean chided. "They'd try to help his son control...whatever it is, if it is anything. And, more importantly, they'd at least try to understand what it was before they punished their child willy-nilly."

_Did they seriously think he could do these things without realising it?_ Harry thought to himself. _They cannot be serious._ His father was never the sort of person to think of silly things like that. They would read Harry and Hermione stories about magic, but they also said over and over that it was all just fantasy, nothing more.

"I'll cut his grounding down to two weeks," Laurence relented, admitting, "I was a bit strict."

"A bit?" Jean pressed.

"Okay, I overreacted."

"That's more like it," Jean chimed, highly satisfied. "Now, let's get some sleep. By the way, you are one of the most responsible men I know."

"Good night, dear," Laurence replied.

"Love you, dear."

Harry could feel himself growing a little happier. He wasn't going to suffer for a month like he first thought. He'd still be grounded, but for just half the time. He found himself feeling so much better that he turned back to his room and went straight back to bed.

* * *

The morning after the incident at the zoo, Harry woke up, and quickly remembered what he could expect. The air around the house felt much more tense as he made his way downstairs, but Harry felt all right, knowing he'd be allowed off his punishment sooner than expected. Already awake and seated in the kitchen were his parents and sister.

"Cook us some bacon and scrambled eggs, please, Harry," his father requested, not looking up from his newspaper.

This was the start of his punishment, Harry realised. No matter, he said to himself, it'll only be two weeks. Not to mention, he actually enjoyed making breakfast for everyone, despite the fact his father meant it to be a punishment.

"Scrambled eggs and half a grapefruit, please, Harry," Jean said, reluctantly but curtly.

"Hermione, what would you like?" Laurence asked.

"I don't feel hungry," Hermione muttered.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, young lady," Laurence lectured. "You need to eat."

Hermione rolled her eyes and unwillingly ordered, "Just scrambled eggs, please."

Laurence said, "And some toast for everyone as well, Harry."

"Yes, Dad," Harry replied. He made them breakfast diligently, whisking and cooking the eggs, frying the bacon, and putting the bread into the toaster. As everything was cooking, he got his mother her grapefruit and set it before her.

"What does everyone want to drink?" Harry asked, knowing his dad would get on him about forgetting that part of breakfast. Laurence held up his cup of tea, as did Jean. Hermione replied, "A glass of milk, please."

Harry took the bacon and eggs off the stove, and brought the pan over, serving everyone a good portion. Soon the toast and bacon were done, and Harry served those as well as Hermione's milk. Soon, he cooked his own meal, making himself some eggs over easy, and two pieces of toast.

As soon as Harry sat down to eat, the sound of the mail slot clicking and the post flopping to the ground turned his father's head in the direction of the front door.

"Go get the post, would you, Harry?" his father not so much requested, but demanded, without sounding demanding. He was always rather good at that, he and his mother.

Harry set his fork down, stood up from the table, and walked to the front door. The post that was delivered appeared to be the usual assortment of bills for his mother and father. Just as he stood up, another letter slipped through the mail slot. Harry questioningly bent down to pick it up. The paper felt fancy, like it belonged to someone of great importance or was meant to say something really important was about to happen and they (most likely his parents) were invited. The back of the letter was sealed with melted purple wax stamped with an escutcheon bearing the letter H.

Turning it over, the letter read in elegant green script,

**Mr H. J. Potter-Granger  
42 Foyle Rd  
Greenwich, Greater London**

Harry recognised the writing on the envelope. It strongly resembled that of the letter that was included with him ten years ago. He looked at the letter a lot in his father's office, mulling over who his birth parents were. His dad would use some of his free time to look for anyone named Potter and bore even a passing resemblance to Harry. Ultimately, those searches turned up nothing and Laurence was left pondering it all, almost aimlessly.

Harry threw open the front door and dashed outside, looking wildly about the street, not seeing anything that looked out of the ordinary. Footsteps turned Harry's head as he saw his father come up. "Going somewhere?" Laurence said, gesturing for Harry to go back inside. Harry stepped back into the house.

"You're not allowed outside," his father said. "You know that."

"But, dad," Harry began, but his father continued his reprimand.

"You're not allowed outside unless we tell you you're allowed," Laurence said. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, but—" Harry began, before his father cut him off again.

"But, what?" Laurence asked, expecting some stupid excuse from Harry, before his son extended the letter toward him.

"Someone slipped this letter through the mail slot after all the other post arrived," Harry explained. "The writing looked so much like the letter you found with me that day ten years ago."

Laurence took the letter and examined the sending address. His eyes squinted as he regarded the letter, but soon went wide with shock and his face went pale to match as he saw what Harry meant. The writing did bear an incredibly strong resemblance to the handwriting from the letter that was left with Harry when he was set at the Grangers' doorstep. Laurence strode to the kitchen, and said with an urgent tone, "Jean, we need to talk in the study."

Jean knew that tone of her husband's. It was the tone he used when something really important came up, something unexpected and wholly serious. She set down her spoon and rushed to the study. Before he followed her, Laurence looked down on his son, and said, "You finish your breakfast and go straight to your room."

"But, it's my letter!" Harry cried.

His father glared at him and growled, "Did I stutter?"

Harry stood his ground and said defiantly, "It's my letter and I haven't even read it yet."

Laurence looked upon his son, his face commingled with severity and a heavy-hearted compassion.

"Fine," Laurence relented, "but I'll be the one to open it."

The Granger parents and Harry went back into the kitchen. Laurence got a clean knife and cut the letter open, so as to leave the wax that sealed it intact. Hermione looked about, worried and confused over what had happened. She leaned over and asked Harry, "What's all this about?"

Harry whispered, "We think that letter came from Brian White."

Hermione went wide-eyed. Laurence handed the letter, still folded and unread to Harry, who took it, unfolded it, and read,

"Dear Mr Potter...

"We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School. You will find enclosed a list of school supplies and necessary textbooks. We expect your reply no later than the 1st of August. To send your reply, stand near the statue of General Wolfe in Greenwich Park this coming Saturday, hold your letter aloft in the air, and one of our messengers will come to collect it.

"Until then, enjoy the rest of your summer.

"Yours, respectfully, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster."

The family was left dumbfounded as Harry handed the letter back to his father. Laurence looked inside the envelope, but found nothing else inside it.

"That was the only thing in here," he muttered.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Jean asked with the utmost disbelief.

"If it's a joke, I certainly don't understand it," Laurence said.

"What will we do?" Hermione asked.

"I have to make certain this is truly the same person as Brian White," Laurence said. "I'll be back in a few hours." Before he left, he looked at Harry, and said, "Stay in your room until I come back and call for you. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded reluctantly and Laurence left the house for his precinct. Harry quickly finished his breakfast and cleared the table for everyone before he went up to his room, to stay put until his mother needed something done, or until his father came back, whichever came first.

* * *

Shortly after Laurence left, Jean went to work. She told her son to do the laundry exactly as she had written out on her instructions. As the laundry went through its cycle, he washed the dishes that soaked after breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen. Once the laundry was entirely done, he went back to his room to wait until his father told him to come downstairs.

Harry tried to imagine what this Albus Dumbledore person, or Brian White, whatever his name was, looked like. For some odd reason, he automatically thought of some old man with with long silver hair and beard, with glasses. _Whoever this man was_, Harry thought, _he had the oddest sense of humour. What does he really know about my parents, if anything?_

Of course, he suddenly remembered, this wasn't the first time some mysterious person had try to contact him. Every Christmas, a parcel would show up in the Granger household addressed to Harry. There would be no address or signature, just the same note: "Dearest Harry, Hoping you are well and happy. Be safe." At first, Laurence thought it suspicious, believing Brian White sent it. That was until he read the affixed note and he saw the parcel's contents. Contained within each package would be several home-baked goods and some hand-knitted articles of clothing as well. The first year they got this sort of package, when the Grangers first took Harry into their home, the parcel contained a tin of fudge, a miniature mince pie, and three hand-knitted things—a baby blanket in scarlet and gold, a hat in a shade of green that brought out Harry's eyes, and booties to match the hat. The blanket soon became one of Harry's favourite things and he wouldn't go to bed without it up to the age of nine.

When Harry was three, Laurence and Jean began to stay up late to find out how the parcels got into the house. While they were glad that someone out there cared about Harry, they wanted to know why they were doing this, and how they knew Harry or his parents. He never could figure out how the presents got into the house. Whenever he turned his back to the Christmas tree, the kitchen table, or Harry's bed—all of them places the parcels inexplicably showed up—they would appear somewhere else in the house instead. Laurence still tried to find out how the parcels got in, but, on the whole, he and his wife came to accept the mystery presents as a fixture of Christmas in the Granger house, albeit a strange one.

Before Harry knew it, his parents had come back home.

"Harry, Hermione, come down here, please," Harry heard his father calling cordially, adding, "Family meeting."

Harry walked down as quickly as possible, followed closely by Hermione, who had spent the day studying French.

"Please, have a seat," Jean whispered.

Harry sat down on the sofa, unsure and apprehensive about what his father had found. Hermione sat down beside him, just as apprehensive as Harry was.

Harry looked upon his parents, then said, "What is it?"

Laurence sighed, and said, "The same person wrote both letters."

"Brian White?" Hermione asked. "You're absolutely sure it's him?"

"Definitely," Laurence verified. "The handwriting on the new letter and envelope match the body of the letter and envelope from ten years back, and both signatures are so similar that there's little room for doubt. Not to mention, it's also the same types of ink and paper he used the last time as well."

"What about the wax?" Harry proffered.

"Ordinary sealing wax. Despite the fact that it's a bit out-of-date to use it, it's not really traceable."

"Well, did he leave any fingerprints or anything like that?"

"Nothing of the sort, sadly," Laurence murmured. "We already ran a search on that name, Albus Dumbledore. Nothing came up."

"Do you think that's another alias?" Jean asked, more concerned.

"It has to be," Laurence replied, then mused, "What I really want to know is, why now? Why wait all this time to make contact with Harry?"

"Maybe he was waiting until Harry was old enough?" Jean suggested.

"Old enough for what, though?" Laurence wondered.

"Maybe old enough to know about his parents," Jean suggested once more.

This cast a pall on the family, more than had been cast by the revelations made.

"So..." Harry began, trailing off before concluding, "How do we get hold of him?"

Jean looked at her son as if he suggested they invite a known killer into their home, and it most likely was what she thought of the matter.

"Harry, we are not going to try to contact this man just because he may know about your parents," Jean rebuked.

"Why not?" Harry replied. "If he's trying to get hold of me, of us, why shouldn't we answer him?"

"Did you not read this letter?" Laurence asked in an appalled way. "He's asking you to stand in a public place and wait around like an idiot. We are not dealing with this man by his terms."

"Not to mention," Jean added forcefully, "we're worried he had something to do with their deaths."

"Exactly," Laurence agreed.

"How else can we talk to him?" Hermione asked.

"Whoever this man really is, we are not doing anything he asks of us," their father blustered.

"Dad," Harry said, pleading his case. "This has always bothered you. I always thought it bothered you a lot more than me. I want to know about my birth parents. I want to talk to this man, if only to give you some closure."

Laurence appeared unsettled at Harry's appeal. His son spoke every truth about Laurence's desires to know the fate of the Potters, as well as Harry's. He had cut to the quick more effectively than Laurence ever had thought possible.

"Would you kids mind leaving your mother and I to talk privately, please?"

The children quickly assented to their father's request. Harry and Hermione went upstairs but Harry stopped at the top of the stairs to listen to his parents' conversation.

"Laurence, we can't humour this horrible man," Jean said right off the bat.

"I know," Laurence conceded.

"We're not going to. I won't have it."

A pause followed this part of the discussion, before Jean asked in a knowing way, "You've already written a reply, haven't you?"

"It's not like we can follow any other leads," Laurence replied.

"Laurence, please be sensible," Jean pleaded.

"Jean, this is as close as we've ever got to knowing what happened to them. Harry deserves to know."

"And what if it was something gruesome that did them in? Harry's only ten."

"You wouldn't know it from talking to him."

"Laurence—"

"Jean," her husband told her, "I don't care what that letter said ten years ago. We couldn't have been the only home in this whole blessed country that was a good place to raise Harry."

Jean made no response, but Laurence continued, "I know it sounds like I only want to inflate my ego, but I need to hear from this man's own lips why he chose us. I'm grateful that Harry came into our lives, but what made us so damn special? What did this man see in us? This wasn't kindness, not entirely. He had a plan for Harry, and I want to know what that plan was."

"What did you write?" Jean asked guardedly.

"My reply simply says we want to speak to him directly," Laurence stated. "We won't humour any other way of talking to him. He knows where we live, so he'll come here or we won't hear any more from him at all. That's what I wrote."

"When did he say we should give him our reply?" Jean asked, knowing full-well what the answer was.

"This Saturday."

"I don't like this, Laurence."

"Neither do I." With a sigh, Laurence declared, "He was right, you know. Harry, I mean. It always bothered me, too much. His birth parents were taken from him so unfairly. They deserved to be found, if they haven't been already. I just wanted to know who they were."

"Whatever happens, this has to be about Harry," Jean cautioned. "It can't be about you."

"I know," Laurence responded. "I can't help but think that Harry is sometimes more of a grown-up than I am sometimes."

Jean chuckled, and said, "We helped a little bit in that regard."

With a chortle, Laurence said, "Maybe a bit too much."

"What sort of ground rules will we have for this meeting?" Jean asked, acquiescing to Laurence's wishes, but making it clear in her tone that she was still against them in every way.

"When this...messenger...does come," Laurence explained, "we won't allow them to speak to Harry or Hermione. Not even a hello. If this person even tries to do so, we step in and make this a conversation solely between us and him."

"If it is a him," Jean stressed.

"Whoever they are, we keep them from speaking to our children until we deem them good enough people."

"And if they aren't?"

"I told Neil about this," Laurence replied. "He saw the new letter. I couldn't leave him in the dark. He told me to call the precinct if anything bad were to happen."

"Good," Jean said. "We should let the kids know what we're going to do."

"I think they already know," Laurence said wryly. "They didn't close the doors to their rooms."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock at their father's knowing utterance. Laurence called them downstairs. He explained to them their rules for this meeting once more, stressing that they were not to speak to the messenger at all, unless their parents decided it was all right to do so. With that, the family made themselves some sandwiches, ate in silence, and turned in for the night.

Harry lay awake for several hours, wondering what would happen that day. Who would they meet when they were there? What would they know? What would they say? His mind went over these questions until he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The week leading up to Saturday was uneventful. When the day finally came, the family took the trip to Greenwich Park, the letter Laurence wrote to this Dumbledore person in his inside jacket pocket. Laurence didn't know how to address the letter, so he simply wrote "Prof Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School" on the envelope. They soon came up to the statue of James Wolfe. With a resigned look at his son, Laurence looked upon the long-passed general with solemnity. He did this for about a minute before he said, in frustration, "I have gone insane, haven't I?"

"No, dear, you haven't," Jean answered.

"I'm a detective for Greater London," his father stated to no one in particular. "I've received all sorts of commendations. I have the respect and admiration of my peers. And here I am standing in a park, holding a letter for some messenger who I'm pretty sure doesn't even exist. All for the whims of some madman. Why am I even doing this?"

"You want answers," Harry proffered. Off his father's look, he added, "We all do."

What Harry said instantly reminded him why he was following this Dumbledore person's directions and quickly went back to surveying the park, hoping that someone who would come to them. Jean affectionately wrapped an arm around him while Hermione took his hand. They gave Harry and Hermione money to look through the telescope at Queen's House. After ten minutes, Laurence finally held the letter aloft in the air, mostly in desperation, waving it every so often, hoping someone would take notice of them and approach them. Mostly, though, all they got were odd stares from the Park's other visitors. When they were done with the telescope, Harry and Hermione returned to their parents' sides. Hermione asked, "This is what he asked you to do? Stand around waiting for some messenger? Did he say what this messenger would look like?"

"All he said was what we'd been told, Hermione," Laurence repeated. "Write a reply, come to the park, wait for the messenger to come. And no, I don't know what they'll look like."

"How do we even know he'll come?"

"We don't," Laurence admitted. "We'll just have to wait and, eventually, be surprised."

Just then, a bird's call sounded through the air and a brown blur flew at Laurence's hand. Startled, he pulled back just as something big and feathery with very sharp talons tried to snatch at his hand. The letter fluttered down to the ground, landing softly in front of Hermione's feet. The family looked up to see a bird turning around and flying back toward the statue. As it came into better view, Harry could tell it was some sort of predatory bird.

The bird came and landed on the railing. It was a barn owl, a brown and white barn owl speckled here and there with bits of grey.

"Is that an owl?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"A barn owl," Jean stated in wonder. "I've never seen one this close before."

"Damn thing nearly took my hand off," Laurence grumbled.

The owl let out a screech at the family. It tried to look around the family for something, then let out another screech. Harry looked down at the letter, then back at the bird, and soon got a shock as he looked closer at the owl. The owl appeared to have a gold pendant around its neck, which bore a crest, a purple escutcheon with the letter H.

"Dad," Harry said, "That's the messenger."

"Harry, don't be daft," chastened Hermione. "Owls don't carry post."

"Then, what's that it's got around its neck?" Harry nearly shouted, pointing at the owl.

What Harry said shook Laurence out of his awe, as he remembered all the owls on Halloween ten years ago. He and the rest of his family soon saw what his son saw, and quickly knew this really was the messenger for whom they waited. Laurence bent down, picked up the letter, and stepped forward, directly in front of the owl. He held it up in plain view for the owl to see. Its eyes were transfixed on it, as if it were its prey. He moved his hand to the left, then to the right. The owl's eyes followed it wherever Laurence moved it. He moved it up and down. Again, the owl followed it without fail. He finally held out the letter to the owl to take. The owl took it into its beak and very quickly took flight. The family stared out at the departing owl in great wonder and confusion until it disappeared from view.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Laurence wondered aloud.

"Perhaps we should go home and have dinner," Jean said, shaking herself and Hermione from their reverie. The two Granger women began walking back to their car, while Laurence and Harry stood where they were, looking upon the spot of the sky where the owl was last visible. They soon realised they were the only ones watching and soon hurried to join Jean and Hermione and go home.

* * *

Two weeks passed after the Granger family's encounter with the owl, without any response from Albus Dumbledore, or Brian White, whatever his name really was. Laurence sat Harry down and admitted he was being too hard on Harry and finally relented on grounding Harry for the full month. He told Harry it was wrong of him to think Harry had done anything as reckless as releasing a fully grown boa constrictor from its habitat.

He then took Harry out for a game of football at Greenwich Park again, which Harry won 3-2. The day was most enjoyable. Harry and his father sat under a chestnut tree, eating sandwiches and drinking juice his father prepared for the both of them.

"Do you think we'll get to talk to him?" Harry asked.

Laurence knew immediately his son was talking about the Brian White situation. He answered his son, solemnly but honestly. "I don't know, Harry. I hope so."

"Do you think they're taking the piss?" Harry asked.

"Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?" Laurence asked, shocked at how his son knew such an expression.

"I heard a kid at school say it before term ended," Harry admitted. "He told me what it meant. I just felt like it best applied to what's going on with Brian White."

"If he is, he's a right bastard," Laurence said, before catching himself and adding, "Don't let your mother hear you talking like that."

Harry nodded rapidly, before his father spoke again. "I have no idea what he's thinking, what he's up to. Whatever it is, we'll be ready for it."

"How?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I just mean we'll be ready to deal with him when he shows up."

"_If_ he shows up," Harry corrected his dad.

"That's true," Laurence admitted.

"Even if he doesn't," Harry said. "It doesn't make a difference. My birth parents are gone. You're my dad. Mum's my mother. You always will be."

Laurence smiled fondly at his son and ruffled his hair. "We need to get you a haircut," he said.

"No, we don't," Harry replied playfully.

"Yes, you do. You look like a little black hedgehog. You need to trim it up."

"My hair is fine." Harry batted his father's hand away, laughing as he did it. The father and son tussled a bit, laughing as did so.

"We should get back home," Laurence laughed, brushing the grass off his trousers. He helped his son to his feet. They kicked the football back and forth on their way out of the park, before Laurence picked it up and tucked it under his arm. Father and son walked out of the park and back home, happy and not worried about any possible encounter with Brian White or anyone in his company.

Harry, however, felt like he needed to talk to his dad about his dreams while they were still alone.

"I dreamed about the green light again," Harry admitted to his father. "Two nights in a row."

"When?" Laurence asked, greatly concerned.

"The night before the zoo, and then the night after it."

"Why didn't you tell me, or your mother?"

"I was in trouble with you and Mum. But, I talked to Hermione about it the first night."

"It's a dream that causes you grief and keeps you awake at night. That's something to be concerned about, Harry."

"If I haven't figured out why I'm having it—"

"We'll figure it out," Laurence stressed. "This isn't something that just goes away or fixes itself, but we will get to the bottom of it, Harry."

Laurence put an arm around his son's shoulder. "But I am glad you spoke to your sister about it all. From now on, even if you're in trouble, you tell us when you have the dream, okay?"

"Yes, dad," Harry quickly assented.

"Good. Now, get your stomach ready. I smell your mum's meatloaf."

Laurence and Harry came up to their house, the scent of meatloaf wafting out of an open window. Harry giggled as his father feigned nausea at the scent in the air as they went in to join the rest of their family for dinner.

* * *

_He stood on his street again, mist hanging over everything, streetlights casting their sodium yellow glow. It felt so much like that last time two weeks back. He checked his hand. There was no silver lighter this time._

_A light went out behind him, and that got Harry's attention. Harry looked and saw a figure in the shadows summoning the light from the lamps into his outstretched hand. Harry could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Soon, all the lights on the streets were out. The man in the shadows began walking up to where Harry stood. Their face stayed concealed in the shadows. Every step closer made Harry more nervous. As they drew closer, Harry backed away. The face still did not reveal itself, but soon Harry saw on of their eyes glowing, glowing green. Soon, the green surged from the figure's eye and flew at Harry—_

* * *

He shot up in bed, sweat pouring off him. _What is going on?_ He thought to himself. _Why am I having this dream more now than in the last few years? When will I stop having it?_ Harry plodded downstairs, making his way to the kitchen. As he came in, he saw the kettle already on the stove.

"Evening," a voice said softly. The utterance startled Harry as he turned and found Hermione sitting at the table.

"What are you doing up?" Harry asked, bewildered that his sister was awake well before he was.

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "I just...couldn't sleep."

"You had a bad dream?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep." Nodding to the kettle on the stove, she added, "There's enough in there for you to have a cup."

Harry made himself a cup of chamomile. Taking a seat at the table, Harry asked her, "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Just some stupid reason," Hermione admitted. "I felt guilty about something."

"Guilty?" Harry asked, disbelieving. "What have you got to feel guilty about?"

"Well..." Hermione began. Before she had a chance to go into her explanation, the phone rang, startling both children.

"We need to get that," Hermione said on the second ring, her senses regained.

He said to her, "'Mione, don't. It's probably just a prank caller."

"What if it's an emergency for Mum or Dad?"

He couldn't argue with that. Harry went over to the phone and picked it up, doing everything he could think of to slow down his heartbeat and his breathing and put the receiver to his ear.

Before he got the chance to speak, Harry heard his father say, in the groggiest of voices, "Granger House." He must have picked up the phone at the same time as Harry did.

On the other end of the line, a voice asked, "Is this Laurence Granger?"

The voice sounded as if it belonged to an old man, far older than Granddad Andy. It sounded very wise as well, or at least very well-educated. Harry's dad replied to it, "Yes, this is he."

"Detective Inspector Laurence David Granger, of the Metropolitan Police Service?" the voice asked further, as if there were more than one man with that name in the Service.

"Yes," Laurence had answered a little impatiently. "How can I help you?"

"Husband to Jean Rosemary Granger, née Wilkins, father to Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter-Granger?"

"Yes," Laurence replied, his impatience unmasked. "This is Laurence Granger. What do you want?"

At that answer, the voice on the other end sounded delighted. "Ah, Inspector! I am so glad I could speak to you. I apologise for calling you at this late hour. However, this was the first free moment after I received your letter that I've had to speak directly to you."

"What letter?" Laurence asked, growing suspicious but sounding confused.

"The letter you handed to the owl I sent to meet you in Greenwich Park."

Harry motioned for Hermione to listen with him. She came quickly to the phone as he held it out between the two of them. Harry heard a rushed rustling on the line, which must have been his father getting out of bed. Harry knew what that meant: his father only got up this late when he had a call involving a case. Technically speaking, his father did have a case at the present moment. How Harry came to be a part of the Granger family was one of the biggest mysteries that had crossed the path of Harry's father. Harry knew his father loved him dearly, pretty much as his own; but Harry also knew, from the day his mother and father candidly revealed to Harry that he was in fact adopted, that it bothered his father that nothing had been discovered in all that time about how Harry's birth parents had died. It bothered his father especially that Harry didn't even have names to append to his birth parents' identities.

But now, some answers would come. Maybe not all of them, but some.

"Albus Dumbledore?" Laurence asked.

"Yes," Mr Dumbledore answered very simply.

They heard the click of another person coming onto the line. It must have been their mother.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School?" Laurence inquired, lacing every mention of their caller's supposed title with great suspicion.

"How do you do, Inspector?"

"Or should I call you 'Brian White'?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you are saying, Inspector. Why would you insist on calling me by that name?"

"Because that's how you signed the letter you left with Harry when we found him on our doorstep ten years ago."

"Why are you so certain that was me?"

"The handwriting in the letter left with our son ten years ago matches the handwriting in the address on the enrolment notice you recently sent us. The signatures on both letters match as well."

A long pause followed Laurence's explanation. Following that came a chuckle, as Dumbledore said, "You are a very keen-eyed individual, Inspector. Would your wife be joining us for this conversation?"

"I'm here, sir," Jean said curtly.

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Again, do forgive me for calling at such a late hour. But, as I said, this was the soonest moment I was granted to contact you, given my duties preparing for the upcoming term."

"So, which would be your proper name, then?" Laurence asked.

"That would be Albus Dumbledore," the man now called Albus Dumbledore answered.

"Why did you choose us?" Jean queried, pouncing very quickly on that opportunity. Jean had always been interested in finding out about Harry's parents, though not as much as his father had been. Nevertheless, both Harry and Hermione knew she wanted answers, for Harry's sake.

"I believe I made it clear in the letter I left with Harry that night. I felt that yours was the best place to raise Harry."

"'After exhausting all other options'," Laurence finished. "My whole family knows the letter backwards and forwards, Professor. What other options did you have to exhaust before coming to us?"

"Harry's parents had asked that his godfather be granted custody of the boy in the unlikely event of their deaths," Dumbledore answered, before continuing in a sadder tone, "but, unfortunately, those wishes were rendered untenable shortly after they passed."

"And his aunt and uncle weren't even close to a last resort, I take it? From how you describe them in the letter?" Laurence surmised.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and spoke. "Yes, that was the case. My initial thought on the matter was that Lily's description of them was rather exaggerated—"

Jean cut off Dumbledore with a single word, asking, "Lily?"

"Harry's mother," Dumbledore said.

Harry could feel his heart clench as he heard his birth mother's name for the very first time. No doubt his father was scribbling it down. Hermione gave Harry a brief smile before they returned to listening to the conversation. As if he were somehow sensing that the family wanted to know more about her, Dumbledore added, "And just so you're aware, her maiden name was Evans."

"Why tell me that?" Laurence replied in a confused tone of voice, that wasn't really all that confused.

"I figured you would want to find out as much about her as possible once our conversation reaches its end. You were always so bent on finding me and Harry's parents since taking him in that day ten years ago."

"It was mostly for Harry's sake," Laurence explained.

"And you also had your own curiosity to sate," Dumbledore knowingly added.

"Yes, I did," Laurence admitted reluctantly.

"I'm well-aware, and, to be honest, I would question your sentiments were you even slightly reticent toward knowing anything about Harry's parents. I'm glad you were concerned about their well-being." Dumbledore continued, "As I was saying, in regards to Lily's family, I thought she was exaggerating a bit about her sister, feeling that sibling rivalry had something to do with it."

"Did it?" Laurence said.

"In some ways, yes," Dumbledore answered. He continued, "James, however, was very quick to confirm her description."

"Harry's father?" Jean rapidly asked.

"That's right," Dumbledore confirmed.

Harry now had both his mother and father's names. He could not describe how or what he was feeling right now. He was switching back and forth between the most intense happiness and a gut-wrenching uneasiness as he took in everything that Dumbledore was saying. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as they listened further.

"Not to mention, a firsthand examination by me of the family in their daily life confirmed everything Lily had said about them," Dumbledore further explained.

"Why didn't you take him in yourself?" Laurence asked pointedly. "You obviously care about him. So, why not raise him, care for him yourself?"

"Believe me, that was the first thought that came to my mind," Dumbledore said. "But, then I remembered, I've tried that before, with highly unsatisfactory results. Thus, I found you and your family."

"How?" Jean asked, very interested.

"The day before you received Harry, ten years ago, I observed you, Inspector, on duty for the last three hours of your shift," Dumbledore recounted. "The first time I saw you, you aided a man in a purple top hat being harassed by a group of young hooligans. He happens to be a good acquaintance of mine. After that was done, I followed you home, to see you and your wife doting on your young daughter, animatedly reading her a story about some little orange creature protecting trees. I could easily see you and your wife were people who truly loved children and that Harry would be best suited to your care and, most importantly, your love."

A long pause followed. The white noise of the connexion was the only sound that could be heard.

"Are you still there?" Dumbledore asked neither Granger in particular.

"Yes, yes," Laurence replied. "We're still here. Sorry, this is a lot to take in, you know."

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said comfortingly. "You both are taking this in stride very well."

"So..." Jean began again. "Why the alias?"

"Well, first, the name Brian White sounded like one that would apply to many people, while, to my knowledge, there exists only one Albus Dumbledore. And, second, it was necessary to keep you at bay until the proper time."

"Which was when?" Laurence asked.

"When Harry was ready," Dumbledore answered. "And he is now. He is ready to begin his education at Hogwarts."

"My husband and I have not decided yet where either of our children will attend school, Professor Dumbledore," Jean stated most resolutely. "We're definitely not sending our son to some strange place we have never heard of in our entire lives."

"The appointment for Harry has already been decided, Mrs Granger," Dumbledore replied casually. "His name has been in our registry since his birth, and his parents paid his enrolment fee upfront the very moment he was born, metaphorically speaking."

"And we have no choice in the matter?"

"Oh, no, you do. As his guardians, you certainly do have the right to revoke it, should you choose to do so. But, I think it would deny Harry and Hermione an extraordinary opportunity if you did."

Laurence took on a worried tone in his voice. "'Harry and Hermione'?"

"Your daughter's name has been in our registry since her birth as well."

This last statement perplexed Harry and Hermione to no end. They both looked at each other as if they'd just heard Hermione had been adopted as well. _Hermione's name was down for registration with the school, too? How was that possible?_

"Dumbledore, I think it's best that we speak to you in person, face to face," Laurence retorted with a very stern tone.

"I'm afraid I cannot accommodate that request, Inspector," Dumbledore responded. "There is still so much to be done before the new term begins."

"Well, then—" Laurence began.

"However," Dumbledore interrupted, "my Deputy Headmistress is headed down in that direction within a week's time. She could come to speak to you in my absence. That way, you would understand how important it is that your children attend Hogwarts. Would that be a suitable compromise?"

The line went silent for a short while before Laurence responded in an uneasy tone of voice, "What day were you hoping?"

"I was hoping it could be done on Harry's birthday. It's a proper time to introduce Harry and Hermione to everything. Would that be all right with you and your wife?"

A long pause followed, but Jean answered, "We'd prefer to speak to you. But, can you vouch for this Headmistress actually being here?"

"She is most punctual," Dumbledore affirmed. "And she will explain everything there is to know about the school."

Another long pause came, before Laurence replied, "Yes, we'll speak with her."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, delighted. "I shall inform her immediately. Thank you for your time. Good night."

"Dumbledore," Laurence asked hastily.

"Yes, Inspector?"

"James and Lily, how did they die?"

Dumbledore replied, with a sigh, "I'm afraid that is a story for another time, and far better to be related in person. Good night, Inspector."

A click and the dial tone told them that Dumbledore had ended the call.

The silence in the house was palpable. Laurence hanged up the phone. Harry and Hermione did the same with the kitchen phone.

Harry looked upon Hermione with a sad smile and said, "I know their names."

His sister quickly took him into a strong hug, which Harry returned in kind as he felt tears welling up, ready to flow.

He knew what he could call them. Nothing else from this night mattered. Not his bad dream, not the unexpected call, nor the strange revelations made during it. All that mattered, for Harry and Hermione both, was that Harry now knew his parents' names.

James and Lily Potter.


	4. Chapter 4: The Tabby

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

AN: So, here's Chapter 4. A note on Chapter 3: I added a mention of another character making some contact with Harry and the Grangers, mostly because it felt right there and not anywhere else. (Please give it a look and tell me what you think.) I admit I've had a bad habit of amending the previous chapters. I apologize and I will make certain to do it a lot less. In any case, I hope you enjoy this newest chapter. Thank you.

* * *

Chapter Four  
**The Tabby**

Sure enough, Laurence left early for work only a few hours after the call from Dumbledore. Neither Harry nor Hermione got much sleep after the phone call from Albus Dumbledore. Both children stayed awake well after the call and didn't fall asleep until close to three hours after. When they awoke for breakfast, it was a quarter to eleven.

"What are the both of you doing up so late in the morning?" asked their mother, very concerned. "It's not like either of you to sleep in like that."

Harry and Hermione quickly admitted to listening to the conversation between their parents and Albus Dumbledore the night before. They stressed that they picked the phone believing it was an emergency for either their mother or father, but kept listening as they didn't want to miss anything that was said.

Their mother simply looked upon them, her expression between sternness and amusement. She finally shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

"Well, at least we don't have to sit you down and explain what happened," Jean said. Looking on her kids, she reproachfully added, "No more eavesdropping. If I catch you doing it, you'll get grounded for a week."

Harry and Hermione quickly assented to their mother's edict and set about eating their breakfast. When they were done, they went about studying in their rooms. All the while, though, Harry ruminated about Dumbledore and his parents, and the Deputy Headmistress coming to meet them within a week's time. He really could not focus on anything else.

* * *

Laurence came back late that evening, well after his wife had served them dinner. He was exhausted, his mind in a contemplative haze. Harry found him sitting in his office, swirling a glass of whiskey and staring off into space.

"Dad?" Harry called. The call shook Laurence from his pondering and he looked upon his son.

"Hey there, lad," Laurence said.

"You had a bad day at work," Harry said, noticing his father's drink.

"How do you know that?" Laurence asked.

"Mum says you only drink that stuff when that's the case."

Laurence set down his drink and picked up a glass of water close by. After taking a sip, he gestured for his son to take a seat.

"Not a bad day, no," Laurence stated. "Just an interesting one. Your mum told me that you and your sister were listening to the conversation last night."

That caught Harry off-guard, but he admitted truthfully, "Yeah, we did."

"What have we told you and your sister about eavesdropping?"

"It's wrong and we shouldn't do it," Harry quickly recited.

"And what did I tell you about it?"

"If I do it, I shouldn't get caught."

Laurence smiled at his son's cheek, but quickly grew serious. "What I really said about it."

"'It's morally reprehensible and only people of the lowest character do it for their own gain,'" Harry recited.

Laurence leaned forward, his demeanour showing more concern than before.

"Did the green light wake you up last night?" asked Harry's father.

"Yes."

"Why was Hermione up?"

"She said she couldn't sleep."

"How come?"

"She said she felt guilty about something. She didn't say what."

Father and son stayed silent for a while, with Laurence taking another sip of water, before Harry spoke up. "Albus Dumbledore is his name then?"

Laurence took up his whiskey again, taking only a small sip before setting it back down on the desk.

"That's what he says," Laurence muttered. "First thing when I got to work, I set about finding out where Dumbledore made his call, hoping that would lead me to him. Turns out it was from a phone box outside a druggist's office in Newcastle. No one living in the area had the names Brian White or Albus Dumbledore, nor had anyone in that area encountered a man by either of those names." With a sigh, Laurence added, "You're probably right. He really is taking the piss."

"Don't let Mum hear you talk like that," Harry replied with a grin.

Laurence chuckled slightly.

"You heard their names," he said, becoming serious again.

"James and Lily," Harry responded.

Harry watched his father pick up a file off the desk and open it, revealing what looked like a newspaper clipping and a police report. "The normal searches I ran on James Potter and Lily Potter turned up nothing. Lily Evans, however, had a driving license."

Laurence pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to Harry, who took it with slightly trembling hands. The paper showed a black-and-white photocopy of an old driving licence, about thirteen years old, issued to one Lily Evans, born eighteen years before. The girl in the photo had shoulder-length dark hair, but Harry instantly focused on her eyes, which were almond-shaped, just like his. He could imagine them being green, just like his, but he couldn't be too sure.

"I'm sorry, but that was the only proper photo of her I could find," said Laurence, ruefully.

Harry handed the licence copy back to his father.

Looking upon the rest of the folder's contents, Laurence said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I figured if strange things were happening..."

"Then, you should look for strange things," Harry finished his father's sentence unsurely.

Laurence nodded and spoke. "For James, that search turned up one, and only one, traffic citation. The oddest thing, this Constable and Sergeant pulled over him and another bloke, who was the one driving, on their motorcycle for several offenses: excessive speed, refusal to pull over, and both of them weren't wearing helmets. Then, it gets weird. Report says the two men on the bike pulled drumsticks out of their back pockets, waved them, and somehow got the officers' car to rear up on its back wheels then upright on its back fender, when three men with brooms crashed into it. That was before James Potter and the other bloke 'flew away on their motorcycle'."

"Flew?" Harry asked, astounded. His mind began racing with that image, the dream of the big, bushy carrying him on the flying motorcycle in the forefront of his mind. He pushed that image out of his mind's eye and brought it back to the present.

"Yes," Laurence said, confused as well. "The officers were suspended without pay on the grounds of 'damaging police property and filing a false report.'"

"What happened to the other three men? The ones who crashed into the car?"

"The officers wrote that once the car fell back onto all four wheels, the other men had disappeared."

"Do you think they were telling the truth?" Harry asked.

"I can't really say," Laurence muttered, though Harry thought his father suspected that was the case. "A search in our database for strange happenings involving Lily Potter turned up nothing. Same for Lily Evans. But, I called up a friend of mine who's a reporter. He looked for articles about strange occurrences with mentions of any of the three names. He found nothing regarding James or Lily Potter. On Lily Evans, however, he found me this article."

Harry took the clipping from his father. The headline read "Springtime Come Early?" and was dated in December about twenty-three years ago. The photo that accompanied the article showed a cherry tree in full bloom. This wouldn't normally be a news item, except for the fact that the tree was in full bloom in the middle of winter. In the photo was a young girl, about eight years old, with dark red hair, almost as dark as a claret, running away from the scene. The article had identified the girl in the photograph as Lily Evans, though Harry couldn't tell if it really was the girl who would eventually become his mother because he couldn't see any of her face. The article went on to say that the tree went back to a wintry state of leafless, blossomless branches shortly after the girl ran away from the scene.

"How does something like this happen?" asked Harry.

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Do you really think I can do things like this?"

Laurence looked solemnly on his son. "It seems possible. But, we can't get ahead of ourselves. We don't know if Dumbledore is telling the truth or not."

"He showed us things about my parents," countered Harry.

"We don't know for certain these people are your parents."

"She has my eyes."

"Eyes that resemble yours. If the licence were in colour, I'd be more inclined to agree with you, but that's not the case."

"You really don't trust him?"

"He avoided talking about their deaths," Laurence said sternly. "He didn't come to us in person. I have the strongest feeling he's hiding something."

"What do we do when the Headmistress comes?" asked Harry, unsure what to think.

"We will worry about that when it happens." Laurence took up his glass of whiskey and drained the last of it. "It's time for you to get to bed. Good night."

Harry left and trod up the stairs to his room. He lay awake for about a half hour, contemplating one question over and over: _If my birth parents really could do those things, what am I capable of?_

* * *

_It was nighttime. He stood at the observatory in Greenwich Park. It was late at night, but when he looked up at the stars, the entire sky was taken up by the planets. Saturn floated in front of Jupiter. Mercury raced across the sky. Mars and Venus floated in front of Neptune's Great Dark Spot. _

_When Harry looked to his right, he saw the strangest sight. A cat sat near the observatory, and it looked as though it was reading something. A map. It was too dark to make out any of the cat's characteristics, but his eyes never left it, taking in every odd quirk about the sight before him._

_Suddenly, the map folded itself up, and the cat took it into its mouth, and dashed away. Harry ran after it, across the grass. Remarkably, he was able to keep up with it, running down the streets after the feline. Soon, he found himself standing in front of his home, its flowerpots full of begonias, the streetlights casting a yellow glow over everything, the ground covered with a layer of mist._

_At the foot of the steps stood the cat. He still couldn't see anything about what the cat looked like. The map was unfolded at its feet again. The cat looked up at the house and back down at the map again. The map folded itself up once more. The cat didn't bother to pick it up this time and quickly slinked up the steps, taking a seat on its haunches at the very top. As Harry went up the steps, a streetlight went out to his left. Then another. The lights immediately after it all went out one after the other. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he saw a man appear as if out of nowhere. He walked down the street, putting something in his pocket along the way. The cat got to its feet and shot down the steps toward the man._

_Harry walked down the steps, keeping his eyes on the man and the cat. A roar in the air turned Harry's head to his left. He saw a light hurtling toward the street from the sky. The light drew closer, and Harry saw that it was a motorcycle's headlight. As the wheels were about to touch the ground, the headlight turned green. The light drew closer and closer, until he felt it closing in around him._

* * *

The dream woke him again. He shot up in bed, short of breath, panicked. The clock read 2:17, like usual. He fell back into bed, mulling over this new dream. The green light came back. Why now? What brought it up? What could have happened that brought it up?

Harry sat up again. He suddenly realised, nothing happened _before_ the dream, but something strange would always happen the day after he had them. Just before the Zoo Incident, he had the dream about the bearded man carrying him on the flying motorcycle. Before the letter came, he had the dream about the silver lighter. When Dumbledore called, he had the dream about the other man holding the lighter. What was going to happen today? It was his birthday, he quickly remembered. Hogwarts's Deputy Headmistress was coming to speak with them today. Were these dreams showing him something? Like...the future?

No, that wasn't possible. Nobody could predict the future. If that were the case, what did the dreams mean?

He remembered something else. He didn't have one of these dreams before the owl came to pick up their letter to Dumbledore. That put a significant dent in Harry's theory, he couldn't deny it. Still, Harry felt certain that the dreams were trying to tell him about future events, or at least about what to expect in the near future. When the rest of his family woke up in the morning, he would tell them of his theory, and see if they could say otherwise. For now, he just wanted to go back to sleep, and he did.

* * *

The next morning, Harry woke up at about eight o'clock in the morning, sharply taking in a breath and sitting up in his bed, albeit drowsily. He did not want to miss out on speaking to this deputy headmistress, whoever they may be. He threw back his sheets and jumped down to the floor. He dashed downstairs, jumping the last three steps to the main hallway. He ran into the kitchen where his mother cooked a hearty breakfast. Everyone was already wide awake.

"Happy Birthday, young man," Jean said, bending down to kiss her son on the forehead. "Take a seat and I'll bring you your breakfast."

Harry quickly sat down beside his dad as Hermione slid a glass of orange juice over to him, smiling. "Happy Birthday, Harry," said his sister.

His father mussed his already messy hair and chuckled, "Happy Birthday, lad. Eleven's a good age to be."

His mother set his breakfast in front of him, a hearty plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages and toast. Harry immediately tucked in and enjoyed the food his mother made. He swallowed and immediately said to his mother, "Thank you, mum."

Jean chuckled. Laurence took a long drink from his coffee mug and turned to his son. "So, what would you like to do today?"

"You mean after that person from the school comes to talk to us?" replied Harry.

Laurence nodded and answered, "Yes, well after that."

"Can we go to the cinema?"

"It's your birthday and you only want to go to the cinema?" asked Laurence, amused.

"There is something there we all can see," Harry proffered. "I thought maybe we could—"

The phone rang before Harry could finish his suggestion, startling everyone. Laurence got up and answered it.

"Granger House," he said. "Speaking."

Some announcement on the other end caught Laurence by surprise, but he quickly composed himself and replied, "Yes. How do you do, Professor?"

He nodded his head a few times before saying, "Yes, ten o'clock would be just fine, thank you. We will see you then."

Laurence hanged up the phone and returned to the table. After a few forkfuls of eggs, he looked up to see the stares of his wife and children. Setting his utensil down, swallowing his food, and wiping his mouth, Laurence spoke, "At ten o'clock, we'll be speaking with the Deputy Headmistress of that school that sent you the notice, Harry. I want both you kids on your best behaviour. Understood?"

Harry and Hermione nodded, and looked at each other, excited at who this person would be.

After breakfast, Harry and Hermione went upstairs, washed up and put on clean clothes. Harry thought it best to wear something with buttons, so he chose slacks and a red button-up shirt while Hermione came out wearing one of her favourite dresses, a yellow sundress decorated with daisies.

"Who do you think this person could be?" Hermione mused.

"I don't know," answered Harry.

"Do you really think they have me down for being a student there?" she asked nervously.

"I would. If I'm good enough, you're more than good enough. You're certainly brighter than I am by a long shot. What school wouldn't want you?"

Hermione blushed slightly at her brother's sentiments. As they got downstairs, the doorbell rang. All four Grangers turned to the door, none of them expecting such a speedy arrival from their expected guest. Ten o'clock must have come quicker than they thought.

Laurence got up and walked to the front door. Jean ushered the kids to the sitting room. Harry heard his father open the door, and an older woman speak.

"Inspector Granger?" she asked.

"Yes," Laurence replied. "You must be the Deputy Headmistress?"

"That's right. Professor Minerva McGonagall. Pleased to meet you."

"Please, come in," he said to her, stepping aside for her to enter. A spartan-looking woman stepped briskly inside. She wore square-rimmed spectacles and had her hair done up in a tight bun. A tartan sash was wrapped around her waist. She took in her entire surroundings with a kind demeanour, before her eyes fell upon Jean standing to greet her guest. Jean stood up and held out her hand.

"Good morning," Jean said most courteously. "I'm Jean Granger."

McGonagall took her hand. "A pleasure," McGonagall replied. Her eyes fell upon the children and she did her best to smile, which made her lips tightly drawn.

"You must be Hermione," McGonagall said pleasantly, to which Hermione nodded and smiled politely. McGonagall extended her hand to her and she shook it politely.

Her eyes then fell upon Harry, and her regard changed to that of one of greater respect. "Mr Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Harry hesitantly extended his hand to McGonagall, who gave it a firm shake. "Potter-Granger," Harry said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My surname is Potter-Granger," he repeated.

"We allowed Harry to change his name," Jean explained. "He kept it as Potter up until he was about eight, then asked us then if we would let him change it to Potter-Granger. We let him."

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore said something about that before I made my way here," their visitor recalled. "In any case, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter-Granger."

"Well," Laurence said, gesturing to a chair for McGonagall. "We appreciate you taking the time to come and speak with us."

"I am very glad to do so," McGonagall stated primly, taking her seat. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you," Jean replied kindly.

"So," Laurence said. "I think we need to talk about Hogwarts."

"Yes, we do," McGonagall explained. "Simply put, Hogwarts is the most preeminent school of magic in all of Britain."

The Grangers looked upon McGonagall with suspicion and disbelief. Magic? She seriously said that? With a straight face, even. Harry could tell his parents were unconvinced, but still showed their guest some courtesy.

"Professor McGonagall, my wife and I really don't think that being a magician is a good career path for either of our children," Laurence said steadfastly.

"You seem to have misinterpreted what I meant," McGonagall replied.

"Then, elaborate your meaning, please," said Jean, even more suspicious of the woman who had entered their home.

"You think I speak merely of illusions, of sleight of hand and sawing people in half," McGonagall explained. "No, I speak of the kind of magic you hear told in your stories. I speak of the kind of magic of which you may cast spells and curses, that can change one object into another, from which one may brew potions which can bring about so many wondrous results. The kind of magic that has left so many in this world gobsmacked and awestruck. That is the magic of which I speak."

The explanation ended, and the Granger family was left flabbergasted. Harry and Hermione were fascinated at what Professor McGonagall just said. Laurence and Jean, however, bore sceptical expressions, Laurence more so than his wife.

He stood up to his full height, not taking his gaze off the visitor in his family room. With every bit of authority he could muster, he said, "I think you had better leave now, madam."

"Dad," Harry cried, wanting to hear more of their visitor's explanation.

"No," Laurence said. "You and Dumbledore spin some ridiculous nonsense about my children being able to do magic, and then you come in here and expect us to entrust their education and, more importantly, their well-being to you?"

"Magic exists, Inspector," McGonagall calmly replied. "You may have been led to believe it is nothing but fantasy, but it does exist and many people are able to perform it. Both of your children are two of those people."

"Madam, Dumbledore has been toying with our emotions for a month now, and here, in our home, you insult our intelligence. On my son's birthday, no less. I must ask you to leave here and never come back. And kindly inform Dumbledore we will not speak with him unless he comes face to face with us."

"Have you ever wondered how it is your children are involved in wondrous and unexplainable events? How books and toys would wind up in their possessions without reason, perhaps?" McGonagall enquired.

Harry could tell McGonagall came prepared. She knew more than she let on, and she knew that his father had thought this through, that he knew every strange occurrence that had been attributed to Harry. His father kept up his façade and wasn't about to let it falter.

"Your children have done incredible things without knowing they are capable, and you know this, Inspector, as does your wife," McGonagall spoke. Getting to her feet, she continued, "Of course, if you require a demonstration by me that it is possible, I'd be more than happy to provide it."

"By all means!" Laurence shouted. "What could you possibly do? No, wait, let me guess. You'll make the whole house disappear and leave us standing on a dirt lot where it used to be?"

"No, nothing so ostentatious as that," McGonagall said, before she took a step forward and—

Upon the table landed a grey tabby cat with black stripes and square markings around its eyes, square markings matching those of Professor McGonagall's glasses. Jean screamed and jumped back in her seat, as did Harry and Hermione. Laurence stayed where he was standing, his eyes wide in shock. All four members of the Granger household stared in bewilderment, mouths agape and eyes fixed open as they watched the cat slink around the table a few times. It leapt onto the sofa between the two children, who moved away from it, then jumped onto the back of the sofa, walking back and forth along it nonchalantly. The cat dropped down to the left arm of the sofa by Harry, and leapt off it, transforming back into the woman that was visiting them.

The family was utterly dumbfounded at what they just witnessed. Harry and Hermione, though, were mystified and excited by it.

Picking up her cup and taking a long draught, McGonagall asked, "Are you still not convinced?"

Laurence took his seat, pretty much falling into it. Shock still was written across his face, but he was still coherent enough to answer her. "Still rather doubtful... But, we are more willing to hear you out than before."

McGonagall took her seat again. Taking a bite from one of the ginger biscuits, she turned to Jean and remarked, "These biscuits are delicious, Mrs Granger."

"Thank you," Jean replied, most flattered but flustered still from the display she witnessed.

"Begging your pardon," Hermione uttered, "but I thought you _weren't_ going to do something ostentatious."

"Well," McGonagall replied, "I meant to say 'nothing so ostentatious that it would be seen by anyone outside this house.'"

This elicited a chuckle from Harry and Hermione.

"Perhaps, I should begin by explaining a bit about the school," McGonagall said.

"Yes, please do," Laurence requested.

"The full name of the school is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry," McGonagall explained. "It has existed for nearly a thousand years and has produced some of the greatest witches and wizards the country, and even the world, has ever known."

"Like Merlin?" Harry asked, keenly interested now.

"Sadly, no," McGonagall answered politely. "The wizard everyone knows as Merlin passed away long before the school's founding."

The Granger parents looked at each other in amazement. Laurence mouthed "Merlin?" to Jean husband in utter disbelief. Jean could only shrug in astonishment to match.

"What other wizards?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued to the nth degree.

"I'm not sure you've heard of them," McGonagall answered.

"Nostradamus?" Hermione asked.

"He was French, and was not a student of Hogwarts," McGonagall replied. "But, yes, he was a wizard."

Jean mouthed the name "Nostradamus" to her husband in surprise. Laurence only shook his head in bewilderment.

"How can you be so certain our children are...can do magic?" Laurence asked, setting down his tea and leaning forward in keen interest. "I mean, you sent Harry a letter. That must mean there's some certainty about him. But, no letter has come for Hermione, and she hasn't shown any such potential, at least not in that capacity."

"Professor Dumbledore withheld Hermione's letter for reasons that were not made clear to me," McGonagall replied. "Which reminds me..." McGonagall reached into her handbag and withdrew two envelopes and handed them to Laurence. "These are the proper enrolment notices along with school supply lists. All you need to do is sign them and Harry and Hermione will officially be students of Hogwarts, though an enrolment fee still must be paid for Hermione."

Laurence passed them to Jean, who took them nervously. McGonagall continued, "As for displaying her magical potential, Hermione most definitely has done so. The most recent act of magic she performed was not but a few weeks ago, where she vanished a glass partition at a zoo."

Hermione's face went pale as her parents and Harry looked at her in shock.

"That was _you_?" Harry yelled. "They banned me and I got grounded because of _you_?"

"I didn't mean to!" Hermione cried, panicked and defensive.

"You could have said something!"

"What could I have said?!"

"Harry! Hermione!" Jean chastised her children. "Now's not the time. We will settle this later. Understood?"

Harry settled back down, though he still seethed at having been punished for his sister's actions, even if they were accidental.

"You're absolutely Hermione can do these things as well?" Laurence asked.

"Very certain," McGonagall stressed. "She has shown a great potential in our registry, as has your son."

"You keep track of all the children in Britain who can do magic?" said Laurence, slightly worried.

"We and the Ministry of Magic do, yes," McGonagall confirmed.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Laurence asked, surprised.

"Yes, and it governs Magical Law within Great Britain, but that's not important right now."

Jean stepped in. "Professor, you're telling us that magic exists and that there are laws and governing bodies for it as well. I think we should know at least a little about it."

"I certainly want to," said Hermione, interested, though still unsettled at the revelation made about her.

"That can be explained in due time," said McGonagall. "For now, all you need to know is that Hogwarts has in its registry the names of all Magical children within Great Britain and the Ministry monitors whatever accidental magic they perform. No punishment is meted out for accidental magic, as a child is not entirely in control of their gifts, but it is noted on their records, like Hermione's act of vanishing the glass at the zoo, or earlier this year, when Harry changed his teacher's hair colour to a lurid shade of blue."

Laurence glanced at Harry with a wry smile on his face. Harry looked beside himself with shock. Defensively, he uttered, "I didn't mean to."

Laurence chuckled, but composed himself before turning back to McGonagall.

She continued, "For now, I think it best that we focus on the school. Hogwarts accepts all Magical children starting at the age of eleven, regardless of parentage. Be they pure-blood or Muggle-born, any Magical child is welcome in Hogwarts, and are strongly encouraged to join."

"Muggle?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"It's a wizard term for non-Magical people, such as your parents," McGonagall replied.

"So..." Harry asked, "my mum and dad, James and Lily, could they do magic?"

"They could," McGonagall confirmed, adding, "and they were named Head Boy and Girl in their seventh year."

"What happened to them?" Harry pressed. "Are they really dead?"

At this question, McGonagall quailed slightly. Her eyes showed that she was uncomfortable with explaining the circumstances to James and Lily's death. She nervously looked down at her tea.

"Yes, they are," McGonagall stated. "Forgive me, but it is a sensitive subject, for all witches and wizards. I do not wish to address that matter right now."

The family began to protest her statement, before she continued. "Respectfully, I ask to speak with you, Inspector, and your wife in private about the matter after I've attended to my business here in London. That way, you may explain to your son, in a kinder manner than anyone else, even myself, would be capable."

The family shared a glance at each other. Harry could tell his father had made up his mind on the matter, though he looked uneasy about his decision. His mother's expression was almost a mirror of his father's.

"That would be fine," Laurence said in a low voice.

Jean turned back to McGonagall and cautiously asked, "How long are the school terms?"

"The term starts on the 1st of September and goes until the end of June. All students stay on the grounds during the term. Older students are permitted to visit the nearby village on designated weekends. The school lets students off for Christmas and Easter holidays to visit home, though they may stay on the grounds during the holidays."

"What sort of curriculum will you follow?"

"Hogwarts teaches all of its students the core subjects of magic: Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic, Astronomy, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Most importantly, however, what Hogwarts teaches its students is control. Control over their magic so they won't do anything rash or potentially dangerous, and so as not to expose the Magical Community to the outside world."

Laurence asked, "What about Maths, Composition, Science?"

"Those subjects will not be taught outright within the school, but all the school's subjects feature some aspect of them," McGonagall clarified.

McGonagall sensed that the family was nervous about all of this, especially the children. They had been so intrigued about this all. But, now learning that they wouldn't be learning anything familiar was rather daunting. The parents seemed antsy about this fact as well. It was one thing to find out that your children were granted enrolment in a prestigious school, but quite another to learn that they wouldn't be taught anything familiar.

"I must stress that it is crucial for Harry and Hermione to take up this education," McGonagall said. "If they do not, other incidents may transpire. And there are consequences for any witch or wizard who does not get a magical education. And if they should spontaneously exhibit those traits in public, even more severe punishments are to follow."

This was the wrong tack to follow with them, as they grew more nervous, though McGonagall knew it had to be brought up. She decided to ease up in her finish.

"I don't mean to frighten you," McGonagall said, taking on a more consoling tone of voice. "I mean to say that this is an opportunity of an amazing magnitude. There are so many wonders to be seen within the Magical World. They will gain knowledge to which very few people outside our community are privileged. Your children will make friendships that shall last their lifetimes. And once you make this choice, you will not regret it. And, more to the point, they will become greater people than they already are."

The family's apprehension lightened considerably at McGonagall's last piece of advice. Both Harry and Hermione looked ready to snatch the notices out of their parents' possession and sign it on the spot, though that wouldn't have been in any way legal. Laurence and Jean glanced at each other, nervous but eager to enable this opportunity for their children.

They turned back to McGonagall and Jean said, "If we do entrust our children to Hogwarts, will they be safe?"

"Hogwarts is one of the safest places in all the world, Mrs Granger," McGonagall stated. "The enchantments in place on the grounds protect all the children and staff. No Muggle can detect it and it cannot be found on any map of the world. No one gets onto the grounds without prior approval from the Headmaster and all activities are monitored closely by experienced witches and wizards. Harry and Hermione will be in more than capable hands."

Laurence looked over to Jean, who gave him a slight grin and an almost unnoticeable nod of the head. With that, Laurence said to her, "We'd like to see more of this wizard's world, if you don't mind. I don't want to sign anything without knowing what our children can expect."

"I must agree with your sentiments, and Professor Dumbledore said to expect such a request," McGonagall stated. "I am to escort you into London. As I have said, I have business to attend there."

"What sort of business?" Laurence asked.

"School business," McGonagall replied. "I am not permitted to say any more than that."

"Where exactly are we going?" asked Jean, a little more eagerly than she intended.

"The heart of Magical London," said McGonagall simply.

With that, the Granger family got up and McGonagall led them to make their journey to the Magical World.


	5. Chapter 5: Magical London

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Chapter Five  
**Magical London**

The trip into London was odd, at least it seemed that way for McGonagall. The family insisted upon taking their car into London, with McGonagall as the front passenger. McGonagall looked upon the car with a great deal of apprehension. Harry, Hermione and Jean climbed into the back of the car, with Jean in the middle, while Laurence guided her to the front passenger seat, reassuring her that she would be safe. He had to show her how to put on her seat belt and soon got to the driver's seat. The start of the engine caused her to tense up and grab the armrest in fright. Getting the car moving caused her to look around in bewilderment. The professor would throw herself against the seat back and brace herself against the dashboard for even the simplest braking at a stop sign or a light. When a car would pass, she would tense up and shift more toward Laurence, frightened at the sudden appearance of the other car. Jean would place her hand on the professor's shoulder to try and calm her, but her efforts would quickly be undone by something else coming up during the drive.

"You don't travel much, do you?" asked Laurence.

"Not by Muggle means, no," McGonagall replied, before a motorcycle zooming by startled the living daylights out of her.

Despite her unnerved state on the journey into London, McGonagall was aware enough to direct Laurence to Charing Cross Road, telling him to pull up to the curb a little ways down the street from a book shop. McGonagall quickly got out of the car, as if she were a sailor stranded on the ocean, coming to land for the first time in weeks, though not as desperately. The family got out of the car much more calmly, gazing at the witch's odd behaviour with confusion and apprehension. McGonagall quickly composed herself and nonchalantly led the Granger family just past the book shop, as if the trip never happened.

"Here we are," McGonagall said, relieved to be out of the car.

They stood at an abandoned shop front sandwiched between the book shop and a record shop on its other side.

The family looked upon this place differently—Harry and Hermione in astonishment as they saw a sign appear over the shop's door, showing a witch stirring at a cracked cauldron. Laurence and Jean, however, could only see the abandoned shop.

"What are you playing at?" asked Laurence doubtfully.

"What do you mean, Inspector?" the witch replied.

"This is an abandoned shop," Laurence said. "There's nothing in there."

"To Muggles, it is abandoned," explained the professor. "To witches and wizards, this is the Leaky Cauldron, one of the most well-known Wizards' pubs in all of Britain. It is through here we must travel to get to where we need to go."

"She's right, Dad," Hermione assured her father. "I can see the sign over the door."

"You see?" said McGonagall happily. "You will need to take the hands of your children so you can enter. There are enchantments in place to direct Muggles elsewhere."

Hermione quickly took her father's hand, while Harry took Jean's. McGonagall opened the door and revealed that the shop was not abandoned as it appeared to everyone.

McGonagall led the family into the pub. It was a dingy place, occupied with only a scant number of patrons. The barman, a bald man who looked like a toothless walnut, was cleaning glasses behind the bar. Two old women, one smoking a pipe, sipped on glasses of sherry in a corner booth. Two wizards, one a little man in a top hat, the other a big hulking man with bushy black hair and beard who held a tankard of some sort of beer, spoke animatedly at the bar about some match between two teams called the Arrows and the Stars, with the larger man speaking in favour of the latter. The large man turned his head and caught sight of McGonagall leading four people who looked like they had just wandered into a foreign country by mistake. The big man's beetle black eyes glinted happily as he caught sight of the professor, and he called out, "Minerva! Fancy seeing you here!"

The big man stood on his feet and Harry and his family saw him stand to his full height, which was considerably great. His head nearly touched the ceiling. McGonagall greeted him most cordially, "Hello, Hagrid. What are you doing down here? I thought you needed to be up at Hogwarts, preparing the grounds for the new term."

"Oh, I have been," Hagrid stated, "but I already did everything I needed to get done for today, and tomorrow as well. So, Dumbledore let me have the day off. Plus, I needed to come down here to get a few particulars myself."

"Well, as long as you're here by Dumbledore's permission," McGonagall said with resignation.

"You work at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"That's right, Miss," Hagrid boasted. Before Hagrid continued with her, he turned to McGonagall and asked, "Who's she?"

"These are the Grangers, Laurence and Jean," McGonagall replied, gesturing behind her. The Grangers smiled and waved to Hagrid, who responded in kind. "They are Muggles," McGonagall continued, "and their children, Hermione and Harry, will be first-years this term."

"Is that right?" Hagrid asked with great eagerness. "Well," he said, beaming down at Hermione, "my name is Rubeus Hagrid. I'm Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, and I expect I'll be seeing you at some point in the term. You and your brother." Hagrid looked over to Harry, and asked him, "What was your name again, lad?"

"Harry," said Harry.

"Harry! That's a damn good name. Knew a great young boy by that name myself. Think he'd be 'bout as old as you are now..."

He trailed off and a look of recognition crept over the man's bearded face. Hagrid turned to McGonagall and asked, "You said their name's Granger?"

"That's right," McGonagall said quietly.

Harry's eyes fell back upon Harry, and his eyes welled up with tears. "Harry Potter..." Hagrid had said, far louder than he might have intended.

The entire pub went silent and still. All eyes turned to the family that just entered, each and every one filled with surprise and awe. Harry could feel his stomach going heavy and cold. Hagrid very quickly took Harry into his arms in a bone-crushing hug, lifting him off the ground. Laurence, Jean and Hermione cried out in shock as the bearded stranger took Harry into the hug unannounced.

"I knew I'd get to see you again someday!" Hagrid bellowed joyously.

"Put my son down!" Jean shouted, prying at Hagrid's right arm, while Laurence pulled at Hagrid's left.

Somehow, Hagrid came to his senses and, realising that he was in public and swinging about a boy about three or four feet off the ground, set Harry back on the ground.

"I'm sorry about that," Hagrid lamented. "Very sorry."

His apology was lost as the rest of the patrons came up to greet Harry. The old witch with the pipe came up, and said, "Doris Crockford, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

The little man with the top hat came forward and rapidly shook Harry's hand. "Dedalus Diggle, Mr Potter. So honoured to meet you," he said just as rapidly.

When he drew himself to his full height, Laurence let out a gasp of recognition. "You!"

The wizard called Diggle looked upon Laurence with confusion.

"I kept you from getting roughed up on Halloween ten years ago!" Laurence went on to say. "You gave me a gold coin for it."

"That was you?" Diggle cried, pleasantly surprised. As Harry's father and Diggle reminisced with each other, Tom the Barman came around and tearfully shook Harry's hand.

"Welcome back, Mr Potter. Welcome back," the barman cried.

Harry felt everything closing in on him. This was unbelievable. He couldn't breathe. He needed to get out of here, away from everyone fawning over him. He moved through the crowd, before he bumped into a body. A sharp, albeit brief, pain shot through Harry's head, and quickly abated as he stepped away from whoever he bumped into. Harry turned to the man, just as the man turned around as well. He was of a small stature and his head was wrapped in a purple turban. Upon seeing Harry, he grew nervous and starstruck.

"H-H-Harry P-P-P-Potter," stuttered the man, wringing his hand in a nervous manner. "C-C-Can't tell you how-how p-p-p-pleased I am to m-m-meet you."

"Quirinus!" McGonagall said in surprise, bringing the Grangers forward to introduce them to the stammering man in the purple turban. "I didn't expect to see you down here today."

"Ah, M-Minerva, h-h-hello!" stammered the man. "S-So p-p-pleasantly surprised to s-s-see you here."

McGonagall said to the family, "Allow me to introduce Quirinus Quirrell, Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Quirinus, these are the Grangers. Their children, Hermione and Harry here, will be first-years soon enough."

"S-S-S-Splendid!" Quirrell cried.

"What exactly does Defence Against the Dark Arts entail?" Laurence asked.

"O-Oh, j-j-just spells t-to ward off d-dark creatures and d-dark spells. F-F-Fearfully f-fascinating subject...N-N-Not that you n-n-need, eh, P-P-Potter?"

McGonagall began ushering the family to the back of the pub. "We need to be on our way. Excuse us, Quirinus." To Tom, she asked, "Is it the same brick as always?"

"It is, Professor," Tom gladly confirmed. "Have a good day!"

As soon as they were out of the pub and in the courtyard in back, Harry let out a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the awestruck patrons.

"That was so bizarre," commented Hermione.

"What was that all about?" Jean asked.

McGonagall looked back from where she was, gazing intently at the brick wall and counting the bricks off to the side of an aluminium dustbin. "I beg your pardon?" she said, in a detached manner.

"Professor, why were those people so fascinated with our son showing up here?" asked Laurence.

"That has to do with our deal, Inspector," McGonagall replied gingerly over her shoulder, "which will be fulfilled as I have said it would. For now..."

McGonagall withdrew her wand and tapped the third brick to the left of the dustbin three times. Suddenly, the bricks shuffled and rearranged themselves, opening into an archway that led onto an alleyway decorated with brightly-coloured awnings and bustling with witches and wizards of all ages.

"Welcome," said McGonagall proudly, "to Diagon Alley."

The Grangers stepped into Diagon Alley with wide-eyed wonder. Harry and Hermione could see something amazing every way they turned. There was an ice cream shop. A book shop called Flourish and Blotts carried books of all shapes and sizes, ranging from the size of a postage stamp to one as big as a paving stone. Harry could already see Hermione gravitating toward it. There was a shop called Eeylops' Owl Emporium, dark but full of glinting eyes. Squawks and screeches and all other manners of bird calls sounded from inside. An apothecary sold all sorts of items like Lethe water and dragon livers. And every person on this street walked about like it was just another day in their lives, which it was.

"I always forget how amazing this place is," McGonagall mused aloud to the Grangers. "That is, until I see someone who has come here for the very first time."

"Yes," Jean said, still awestruck at the sight that stood before her.

"How long has this been here?" asked Laurence, just as detached as his wife.

"Since the days of ancient Londinuim," explained McGonagall. "Though, it was much smaller in those days, and not nearly as impressive."

Jean asked McGonagall, "You said you teach the children not to expose the Magical World to the Muggles. Why on earth not?"

"As I see it, there are three key reasons," McGonagall explained. "The first is the most well-known. Witches and wizards have been persecuted so often that it has become a second nature for us to seclude ourselves from those that would mean us harm. The second would be an economical one. The Muggle world would want magical solutions for everything, even the simplest things that they can do all by themselves. The demand would become too much for all of us to fulfill."

"So, what would be the third reason?" asked Hermione, in a tone that said she already had the answer in her mind.

"The third reason, in my opinion, would be this question: how long would it take for the first reason to overtake the second reason?"

Harry watched as children gawked at a gleaming new broomstick on display in the window, next to a uniformed, heavily padded mannequin. One of the kids said, most excitedly, "Look! It's the Nimbus 2000!"

One of their friends cried, "No way! It's the fastest one yet!"

Another friend said, "All the players for the YM got one. They're bound to win the Cup this year!"

Laurence had unfolded the supplies list, perusing it in utter disbelief. The list called for them to buy things like a pewter cauldron and dragon hide gloves and so many other things that were no doubt going to cost a significant amount of money.

"Dragon-hide gloves?" Laurence asked in great surprise. "Do they mean from an actual dragon? Big fire-breathing lizard type thing?"

"I'm not sure what other type of dragon might come to mind for you, Inspector," McGonagall said, almost confused, "but yes, that is the sort of dragon to which the list refers."

"Professor," Laurence said, "how can we pay for all this? Do wizards even take pounds?"

"Unfortunately, no," McGonagall answered. "For that, we must visit Gringotts." Upon seeing the Grangers' confusion, she explained, "The bank for the Magical Community. One of the most secure locations in the entire Magical World, right after Hogwarts."

The professor led the family down the Alley to a tall building, its marble as white as a winter's first snow. Scaling the steps, Harry was shocked to see standing on either side of the doors...two creatures, for lack of a better term, both with angry coal black eyes, mottled skin and long pointed ears and noses, clad in iron armour holding spears also made of iron.

"The bank is run by the Goblin race," McGonagall said, as if it were nothing but a footnote. For the Grangers, it was quite unnerving to learn that goblins existed. Harry, though, thought it made sense that if magic really existed, then so did goblins. The two goblins bowed to the people as they stepped through the burnished bronze doors and up to a set of shinier silver doors that bore an inscription:

_Here stands Gringotts, bastion of wealth.  
Welcome, and enter, but do control yourself.  
Yours is for the taking, should it truly be yours.  
But if that which you seek under our floors  
Belongs to another, and you take it away,  
You shall not live to see the next day.  
Turn away now, thieves, for you have our word:  
Our wrath is most mighty when it is incurred._

Harry felt himself growing more and more nervous, but slightly intrigued, to his surprise, as he read those words. McGonagall came up to him and handed him what looked to be a gold key.

"This is for you, Mr Potter," she said. "The key to your vault."

"I have a vault here?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Your father opened it for you when you were born. You will need to make a withdrawal for several Galleons so that you may buy your school things."

"Galleons?" Jean asked.

"Wizards' currency," McGonagall explained. "For each gold Galleon, there are 17 silver Sickles. For each Sickle, there are 29 bronze Knuts."

"So, 493 Knuts equals one Galleon," guessed Hermione.

"Yes, that's right," said the professor, most impressed. "You should consider taking our arithmancy classes at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, when they are available to you. I'm certain you would excel at it."

As if just remembering something, she turned back to them. "Before I forget, the fee required for Hermione is 750 Galleons. When you pay it, we hold her place within the school. After she completes her first term, the fee shall be refunded to you and she will always have a place at the school thereafter. Now, then, on to the business at hand."

The professor pushed open the silver doors and led the family into a very stately bank. Several goblins sat on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in ledgers and weighing coins on brass scales. As Professor McGonagall stepped up to the tallest desk at the very end of the lobby, Harry's eyes strayed to a goblin weighing what looked like rubies, all about the size of a grapefruit, and then examining each one through an eyeglass.

Professor McGonagall made a cough to get the head goblin's attention. It worked, as the goblin looked up slightly bemused at McGonagall's presence, but recognised her, set down his quill, and took on an air of great respect. The goblin greeted her, "Professor McGonagall, good day. How may we at Gringotts help you?"

McGonagall said, respectfully to the goblin, "I am here on behalf of Professor Dumbledore. He has asked for me, in his stead, to remove an item from one of the Hogwarts vaults."

With that, she handed the goblin a letter, which he opened quickly but took his time reading in its entirety. After folding it neatly, sliding it back into its envelope, and sticking it in a drawer, he replied, "We will gladly fulfill Professor Dumbledore's request. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. Mr Harry Potter wishes to make a withdrawal," McGonagall stated in a very matter-of-fact tone of voice.

The goblin looked over to Harry, gesturing him to come forward with a long, gnarled finger ending with a pointed, black fingernail. Harry did as the goblin asked, feeling that these were not creatures with which to trifle.

"Do you have your key, Mr Potter?" the goblin asked.

"Yes, right here," Harry said, holding out the key to his vault. The goblin took it, glimpsed at it briefly, and handed it back to Harry.

"Your key is in good order," said the goblin. "You will need to speak with Griphook before you can make your withdrawal, sir. He will be at this third desk to my right."

The head goblin raised a hand and gestured to the armoured goblin standing behind him, who briskly stepped forward. "Escort the Professor down to vault number..." the head goblin ordered, checking the letter before finishing surreptitiously, "713."

The head goblin returned to his ledger. The armoured goblin began walking down the hall leading to the vaults. McGonagall quickly followed him.

The Granger family turned to the desk pointed out to them and took their seats. After a few minutes, a swarthy-looking goblin with a pointed black beard stepped forward from the passage behind the desk. Looking upon the family with an unreadable expression, the goblin stepped up to the desk. Standing at his full height, he wasn't nearly as tall as Harry, maybe half a head shorter, but Harry still felt intimidated by him. He could tell his family was too.

"I am called Griphook," the swarthy goblin stated. "I am the goblin in charge of managing all accounts belonging to the Potter family." Looking upon Harry, he asked, "You would be Mr Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Harry answered, a bit nervously, adding, for the sake of being honest, "Harry Potter-Granger."

The goblin seemed surprised by this fact, but asked, "But, your parents were James and Lily Potter, am I correct?"

"Yes, they were my birth parents," Harry replied. Upon hearing this, the goblin seemed almost kinder.

"A pleasure finally to meet you," Griphook said, extending his hand to Harry, who took it and gave it a firm shake. Looking upon the family surrounding Harry, he asked, "Would you be his guardians?"

"Yes, we adopted Harry as a baby," Jean stated.

"Very good," Griphook said confidently. "It's better for a guardian to be present during these discussions." Griphook brought out a large black ledger, set it on the desk with a slam, and opened it, it seemed, for his own review. He dragged his finger down the page, stopping at the very bottom.

"The Potter family holdings are considerable," Griphook recited. "At present, there is one vault to which you will have readily available access. It is specifically for the purpose of your education. Your father opened the vault, nearly a day after your birth, with a deposit of 2,000 Galleons, making regular monthly deposits of 300 Galleons, including the month he opened the account, up until the time of his death. With 7% interest, compounded monthly, the balance at that time was 6,898 Galleons, 2 Sickles, and 18 Knuts. In the time since his death, the account has continued to accrue interest, again at 7% compounded monthly, and the current balance stands at 13,623 Galleons, 2 Sickles, and 19 Knuts."

Griphook's explanation left the family more confused than they had been upon hearing the opening deposit. Griphook picked up on this confusion and asked Laurence and Jean, "Are you Muggles, perchance?"

"Er, yes, my wife and I are," Laurence answered. "We're not entirely sure if that's a lot, really."

Griphook chuckled slightly and explained further, "The exchange rate currently stands at five pounds and twelve pence for one Galleon. Converted to pounds sterling, at this present rate, the balance for this account equals sixty-nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty pounds and fifty-six pence."

This brought astonishment to the faces of the Granger family. Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew his mum and dad had set aside some money for Harry for when he would go to university, but never imagined his birth parents had done anything like that.

"Very surprising news, is it not?" asked the goblin.

"I should say so," Laurence answered.

"What else is there?" Harry asked, eager to hear of what other wealth his birth father had in the past. Griphook flipped through some pages of the ledger and stopped at another page.

"James Potter held the deeds to several properties spread throughout Britain before he died. Those properties were located in Manchester, Norwich, Holyhead, Godric's Hollow, Belfast, Edinburgh, and here in London, in Kensington. In the event of his death, your father stated that all the properties—save for the one in Godric's Hollow—be sold, and they have been. Your mother was listed as the primary benefactor, but given both your parents' deaths, the profits from the sales of those properties have been placed in a trust that also contains the majority of the Potter family's wealth. That trust shall be bequeathed to you once you come of age at seventeen."

"His father was that rich?" Laurence asked, hardly believing what he was hearing.

"As I said, sir," Griphook answered forbiddingly, "the Potter family holdings are considerable."

"When can I take some money out of my vault?" asked Harry excitedly.

"We can do that right now," the goblin replied. "But, in the interest of...safety," the goblin said that word with disdain, "we require one of your guardians to accompany you. Before we do that, though, you must sign a form to say they are permitted to access your vault."

Harry quickly signed the form saying his parents had his permission to visit his vault, even though they were Muggles and couldn't really get to Gringotts without a wizard's assistance. He also allowed Hermione to access it as well.

When all that was done, Griphook asked, "Now, who shall you bring with you, Mr Potter?"

Laurence quickly looked to Jean, who leaned forward and said, "I'll go with him."

"Very good, madam," said Griphook. "Please follow me."

The goblin pushed open a small door to his right. Harry and Jean nervously stepped through it and follow the goblin down the passage directly behind his desk. The passage was narrow and dark. Harry could just barely discern the goblin's small stature. They finally stepped out onto a stone platform, the only notable thing here was the lantern dangling on a pole in the very center of the platform. Griphook pursed his lips and whistled shrilly. The sound made Harry and his mother wince. A rumbling followed shortly after and a wrought-iron cart rolled to the platform, stopping very sharply.

"Climb aboard," Griphook said, gesturing the son and mother to the carriage. Harry and Jean climbed onto the carriage. Griphook took down the lantern and set it in the front seat, before he got in himself. The controls seemed to be only two levers. Griphook shoved the left lever forward and the carriage shot forward. The cart barreled down a dark tunnel, the only light being the lantern beside Griphook. Harry clutched his mother's hand, mostly for her benefit. He knew she hated roller coasters, and this was worse than all of those. Harry felt the same way, recalling that this must have been how McGonagall felt in their car. How she thought that was dangerous compared to these carts, he didn't know, especially considering that she had go on one herself to that Hogwarts vault.

The cart came to a sudden stop, so sudden that Harry was surprised they all hadn't been hurled off the cart onto the tracks in front of them. They had arrived at a vault marked DCLXXXVII. Griphook stepped off the cart and cried out, "Vault number 687!" Jean stepped out, followed quickly by Harry. Griphook stopped at the door and held out his hand, saying, "Your key, please, Mr Potter. Madam, would you hold the lantern on the door, please?"

Harry handed the key to Griphook. Jean took the lantern and shone it on the door as the goblin asked. The goblin took the key, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned it sharply. The locks whirred and grated with loud groans. Soon, however, the vault door opened with a hiss and a cloud of greenish-yellow smoke seeped out. Griphook grabbed the door and pulled it open the rest of the way. With the door open all the way, Harry and Jean's eyes went wide as they saw a great many stacks of gold Galleons resting in the centre of a beat-up wood table. Circling those were smaller stacks of silver Sickles, while the bronze Knuts were scattered all about the floor.

"Incredible," Jean whispered in complete awe.

"Yes," the goblin commented in a rather banal tone, before stating in a more business like manner, "By my estimates, the school supplies for a first-year student costs approximately 300 Galleons total."

"The withdrawal will be for 1,350 Galleons," stated Harry, after doing the math in his head, taking into account Hermione's fee to get into the school.

"Harry," her mother said gently, knowing what he wanted to do. "We're not taking money that's rightfully yours to pay for Hermione's admission or her supplies. It's sweet of you to want to, but we can't make you do that."

"This is the easiest way to do it, Mum," Harry said. "Plus," he murmured to her, "the goblins might charge a fee for exchanging pounds for Galleons."

"We do," the goblin was quick to confirm, apparently having overheard Harry's comment. "It's quite exorbitant, but not without reason."

Harry asked, "How come?"

"It is a most taxing affair for Gringotts and its goblins to reintroduce Muggle money into the Muggle World without attracting attention, sir."

Harry looked at his mother. She looked back at him affectionately and quickly conceded to his decision. Jean turned to the goblin and said, "Well, you heard my son, Mr Griphook."

"Yes, madam," said the goblin. "Might I ask you both to step outside as I count out the necessary amounts?"

Harry and Jean moved away before he turned to the money and began sorting it all out most diligently. Within practically no time at all, the goblin stepped out holding two bags, one smaller than the other.

"I took the liberty of separating the amount for the fee into a separate bag," Griphook stated. "It is entirely in Galleons, whereas the rest of your withdrawal is in an assortment of all three coins, totaling exactly 600 Galleons."

Harry gladly took both bags in his hands and they all climbed into the cart once more.

"I don't suppose you could go a bit slower on the way back?" asked Jean anxiously.

"Our carts travel at one speed only," Griphook said curtly.

Harry quickly took hold of his mother's hand as Griphook shoved the lever forward, sending the cart rocketing forward down the dark tunnel.

* * *

When Harry and Jean got back to the main lobby, Professor McGonagall and Laurence were speaking while Hermione read a pamphlet about opening a vault within the bank. The professor had a package wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and soon shoved it into the handbag she had with her as Harry and Jean came to meet them. Harry promptly handed the professor the bag with the fee for Hermione. She took it graciously. Just as promptly, Laurence signed their forms and thanked McGonagall for her help.

The Grangers and McGonagall walked out of the bank with money in hand. They soon saw the giant man, Hagrid, making his way through the crowd, straight for the family. Laurence quickly stepped in front of both his children and his wife to block the giant man from picking up his son again, or either Jean or Hermione. Hagrid, this time around, looked most apologetic and rather flustered, the latter probably owing to his practically running down Diagon Alley.

"Hello, sir," Hagrid said, taking a gasping breath as he reached Gringotts. "I am truly sorry for my display back there at the Cauldron. It's just—that was the first time I ever saw Harry since he was a baby and—"

Jean cut off Hagrid and stepped forward, enquiring, "You knew my son when he was a baby?"

"Only very briefly, ma'am," Hagrid replied, clarifying, "I got to see him a few days after he were born, and a handful of times after that."

"Begging your pardon," interrupted McGonagall, "but I am pressed for time, and I do not wish to renege on my promise to either of you.

"Again, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me—" Hagrid said again.

"Hagrid," Laurence said, very anxiously, "we accept your apology. But, we need to talk to Professor McGonagall for a short while. Excuse us. Harry, Hermione, come along."

"I said I would speak only with you and Mrs Granger, Inspector," McGonagall corrected him. "Hagrid can look after Harry and Hermione while we talk."

"Professor," whispered Jean to the professor. "This man is—"

"Hagrid is a very gentle person, despite his unruly and imposing appearance," replied McGonagall assuringly. "You can entrust your children to him. He will see no harm comes to them."

"I'd never let anything happen to Harry," affirmed Hagrid, adding, "Or his sister."

Laurence and Jean looked at each other nervously. After a last glance at the giant man, Laurence turned to McGonagall, and asked, "Where exactly are we going?"

"We will be at Flourish and Blotts, the bookshop here in the Alley," she answered him.

Laurence bent down to his children. He said to them, uneasily, "If anything happens, you come straight to the bookshop. All right?"

"Yes, dad," Harry and Hermione said simultaneously. McGonagall led the parents up the street. Jean looked over her shoulder, unsure about what would happen to her children.

"Right," Hagrid said. "First thing you ought to get is your school robes. Come along this way."

Hagrid led the children up the Alley to a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The way there seemed longer than it really was, mostly because both parties didn't know how to interact with each other. The giant man pointed the children to the door and told them he'd be waiting outside for them to be done.

As Harry and Hermione stepped inside, a plump witch dressed in mauve walked over to them, and said kindly, "Hello, dears. Hogwarts, I take it?"

Both Harry and Hermione nodded. The witch ushered them to stand on a pair of footstools. Two other witches draped robes over the both of them and began pinning them to the right length. Harry soon became aware of another boy standing on another footstool, having his robes fitted by another witch. He had a pale pointed face with sleek blond hair. He had a haughty air about him, and Harry had the strong feeling that he wasn't going to like this boy.

"Hogwarts, too?" the boy asked in a bored drawl.

Harry didn't reply verbally, only nodded.

"Father is out buying my books," the boy said. "Mother is out getting things from the Apothecary. We'll be going to get a racing broom after this. Father is going to get the restriction on first-years not being allowed to play Quidditch lifted so I can compete."

"I guess that's a good idea," Harry said, without sounding even slightly interested.

"Of course it's a good idea," snapped the boy. "That way I wouldn't have to wait a whole year to try out for the team. I'd actually get to play rather than sit about watching it all like everyone else. Do you play Quidditch?"

"No," Harry said.

"Have you got a broom?"

"I might get one eventually," said Harry, looking over at Hermione exasperatedly.

"Do you two know each other?" the boy asked snidely.

"I'm his sister," said Hermione.

"How?" the boy asked. "Neither of you look alike."

"I'm adopted," Harry stated. "My birth parents died when I was younger."

"Oh, sorry," the boy said, not sounding at all sympathetic, before asking in a disdainful way, "But, they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you're asking," Harry said through gritted teeth. The boy's comment put Harry on edge. He always hated this sort of talk and it always left him feeling angry that such beliefs even existed.

"Hogwarts shouldn't even let in any other sort," the boy ranted. "Muggle-borns are practically savages. They haven't been brought up to understand Wizarding culture. They haven't even heard of Hogwarts until someone comes around to tell them. The school needs to keep it in the old families."

Harry looked at Hermione with a steely gaze. She looked about ready to claw the pale boy to bits. Harry was always glad Hermione often thought the same way he did. More often than not, Hermione was the first to reprimand anyone that spoke as this boy did. This time was no exception.

"Our parents happen to be Muggles," Hermione said, cutting off the boy from any further comments and leaving him gawking at the two of them as if they insulted his entire family. "I'll ask you kindly to keep whatever vile thoughts you have about it to yourself and leave us to get done what we're here to do."

The witches handed the siblings their robes with a look that said they respected and, more importantly, agreed with what Hermione said. They paid for their robes without a word. Harry stopped at the door and shot the boy a mean glare before leaving.

Hermione stormed past Hagrid in a huff, Harry following suit. Hagrid caught up to them. "What's the matter?" he asked, genuinely concerned about Hermione's state. "What happened?"

They didn't know if they ought to open up to Hagrid about what the pale boy said, but something about Hagrid told Harry he was a good person to talk to. Harry could tell Hermione thought the same. Now that Harry saw the gamekeeper in broad daylight, he could sense that there was something oddly familiar about him. Harry couldn't place it, but he was certain that he had seen Hagrid's face somewhere before today.

"Hagrid," Hermione asked apprehensively, "is there something wrong with being a Muggle-born?"

Hagrid looked at her in shock. "'Course there isn't!" he cried. "Why would you think that?"

"There was a boy in there that said people like me shouldn't allowed into Hogwarts," she related to Hagrid. Pointing at him as he walked out with an older woman as blond and haughty as he was, she said, "That's him."

Hagrid looked at the boy as he walked away in the direction of Gringotts. The giant man muttered, "Draco Malfoy. His family's a Dark one. Rotten, the lot of them are."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, worried.

"There are a few wizards around that think you're only a proper wizard if your family is all Magic. Pure-blood, they say they are. Can't really see how. Lot of them are cousins to begin with."

"Why do they think that?" asked Harry.

"'Cause you close yourself off to good people of any kind, you don't see how stupid something like that is. Blood purity, it's a load of nonsense. Lily was Muggle-born, and she was of the sharpest witches I ever met. One of the best people, too."

"My mum was Muggle-borne?" Harry asked, very surprised.

"Absolutely, she was," Hagrid said proudly. "Blood ain't got one jot to do with how great a wizard you are. Your dad may have been Pure-blood himself, but he saw that it was all nonsense, and he was always proud of his wife for who she was, not for her blood. You'd never hear one bad word from James about Lily. Nothing but love, those two had for each other."

Both Harry and Hermione brightened at Hagrid's recounting of the relationship between Harry's birth parents. Hagrid reminisced about all of James's pranks and gushed about every bit of Lily's academic prowess. All memories of the pale boy and his repulsive utterances were swiftly and happily ignored.

Hagrid led the children about the shops, buying their things for the coming year. The cauldron shop wasn't very exciting, though Harry and Hermione didn't really expect it to be. He was, however, fascinated with a solid gold cauldron on display. "Gold's useless for a cauldron anyway—melts too quick on all that heat," Hagrid told Harry. They stepped out of the cauldron shop when Harry asked, "The boy at Madam Malkin's said something about Quidditch. What is that?"

"It's our sport," Hagrid explained. "You play it on broomsticks, flying high above the ground. I can't remember many of the rules, but no matter. You'll see it out at Hogwarts soon enough, and you'll love it."

"Are the YM a club that plays it?" Harry asked, slightly less confused.

"Oh, yeah," answered Hagrid. "That's one of the nicknames for the Quidditch Club of Ynys Môn. Harpies, everyone calls 'em. Play their home games out in Holyhead. Every player on that team's a witch, not one man on the squad, and every one of them are some of the best players around. But, you want to go with a really great team, you root for Pride of Portree. _A' reannag_, always leads the way." Hagrid beat his chest and hooted proudly. The children giggled at Hagrid's display.

They continued their shopping spree through the Alley. Both Harry and Hermione marveled at the telescopes. Astronomy was one of Jean's favourite pastimes, and the family would always make a night of it whenever there was a lunar eclipse or a meteor shower. They were certain their mother would lavish so much attention on these when she saw them. The Apothecary was fascinating, if only for some of the odds and ends, like the unicorn horns and the dragon's blood. Hagrid gushed about Professor Dumbledore finding out all the ways that dragon's blood could be used. "Great man, Dumbledore is," he said proudly. "Great man, indeed."

Hagrid led the children out of the Apothecary. They had very nearly gotten everything, even their books. At Flourish and Blotts, the children could see that their parents were deep in discussion with McGonagall at one corner of the shop. Harry thought he should go to them to show them everything they had bought. Hagrid, however, knew what was happening and guided the children to buying their textbooks. Hermione ecstatically got herself a book about Hogwarts, eager to see what the school would hold in store for them. Hagrid then led them back to the Alley.

"One last thing for you to get is your wand," Hagrid said. "Most important thing for witches and wizards. Can't do magic without it."

The gamekeeper led Harry and Hermione to a shop. The sign above the door read: "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C." As Harry and Hermione were about to go inside, they looked back to see Hagrid standing nervously a ways away from the shop.

"You two can go into Ollivander's by yourselves," Hagrid said, slightly unnerved by his presence near this particular shop. "I'll stay out here."

"Why don't you come in with us?" Harry suggested. "We wouldn't mind. We're getting to liking your company."

"I appreciate that, Harry. Really, I truly do. It's just that...Ollivander ain't gonna be too keen on seeing me."

"Why not?" Hermione asked.

"Well, he don't take too kindly to anyone that got a wand of his snapped in half."

"How did you manage that?" Harry asked, surprised.

"I got expelled in my third year," Hagrid admitted glumly. "Ain't been allowed to hold another one since."

This news worried the pair of Granger children. Hagrid noticed their unease, and quickly tried to put a stop to it. "Hey, don't either of you worry. You haven't even been to Hogwarts yet. Both of you are going to be great students there. Now, go on. Go get your wands."

Hagrid ushered them into the shop, smiling as best he could, given his reminiscence, and quickly stepped away.

Harry and Hermione looked around the shop, which was only sparsely furnished with a full-length mirror, foot stool, a small spindly-legged coffee table, and a threadbare wingback chair. A counter separated the lobby of the shop from the back, which was lined with shelves upon shelves of long slender boxes. On the counter, a small bell sat beside a large old cash register. Hermione walked up to the counter and rang the bell. Just as soon as she did, a man on a rolling ladder rolled into view, startling both children. The man on the ladder quickly stepped down and turned, looking very pleased to meet his new customers. He was tall and slender with wispy silver hair, pale blue eyes and a kind smile.

"Good afternoon," the man said most cordially. "I am Garrick Ollivander, owner and proprietor of Ollivander's Fine Wands. How do you do?"

Hermione quickly took the shopkeeper's hand and shook it firmly but uneasily. "Hello. We'd like to purchase wands for ourselves, please."

"Of course," Ollivander answered eagerly. "First-years, I take it?"

"Yes, my brother and I will be starting at Hogwarts this year," said Hermione proudly. Looking back to Harry, Mr Ollivander's eyes fell upon him and his face took on an awestruck expression. "Harry Potter..."

The children took on a collective uneasy feeling as Ollivander approached Harry. Ollivander spoke up with great eagerness. "I've been wondering when I'd be seeing you, Mr Potter. I remember when I sold your mother and father their first wands."

"Really?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"Oh, yes," Ollivander stated. "When your mother first came here, she got herself a 10-inch wand, willow, rather swishy. Very well-suited for charms work." Ollivander spoke animatedly, picking up a measuring tape, along with a quill, an ink bottle, and some parchment. "Your father, on the other hand, came away with an 11-inch wand. Mahogany, pliable. Powerful wand, excellent for transfiguration. I must say your father heavily favoured it. But, he, along with so many, didn't understand it is the wand that chooses the wizard."

Having gathered everything, Ollivander walked back to the children. "Now, Mr Potter, shall we begin?"

"Er..." Harry began uneasily. "Ladies first?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same at Harry's attempted chivalry. Ollivander laughed and brought out the measuring tape. "Very good manners about you, Mr Potter," Ollivander said. "Well, then, my dear, your name?"

"Hermione," she said kindly.

"Well, Hermione, please step up onto the foot stool."

Hermione briskly walked up and stood on the stool, stock straight.

"Now, then, my dear," Ollivander said, readying a quill with ink, and holding the measuring tape with his other hand, "which is your wand arm?"

Hermione cocked her head slightly, as if she didn't understand the question. Uncertainly, she answered, "Well, I'm right-handed," and held out her right hand.

"Good," he answered. Holding up her arm gingerly, Ollivander asked her, "Now, turn it upward and spread your fingers as wide as they will go. That's right." Hermione did so, and Ollivander began his measurements, starting from the tip of her thumb to the tip of her little finger, moving onto measuring from the tip of the middle finger to the wrist, from wrist to elbow, elbow to shoulder, shoulder to the tip of her middle finger, shoulder to shoulder, armpit to hip, armpit to knee, hip to her knee, hip to feet, knee to feet, her full height, her shoe size, and finally around her head. All the while, Ollivander's quill was writing down Hermione's measurements by itself, as if it had a mind of its own.

"Very good," Ollivander finally said. "You can step down now."

Hermione did so as Mr Ollivander dashed into the back of the shop, the slip of paper in his hands. The tape measure fell to the ground and the quill jumped to rest in the ink bottle. "It seems a wand of ten and three-quarter inches in length will best suit you, Hermione," Ollivander called out. He began searching the boxes, pulling down three in all. Coming back up to the siblings, he dumped the gathered boxes onto the armchair. "Now, we will see which core will suit you best."

"Core?" Hermione asked in keen interest.

"Every wand made at Ollivander's has magical wood to comprise its body and a special material to make up its core," Ollivander explained. "In this shop, we use only the finest unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings, and phoenix feathers. No two wands are alike, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are alike. Or people, for that matter. Thus, a different core better suits a different wand, just as a different wand better suits a different witch or wizard. With young witches and wizards, one type of core resonates with them far better than the other two. As their experiences grows, a witch or wizard can display their gift through any wand they hold, though the best results come from a wand that has allied itself with you. The measurements and the core test help us to better find the wand that may choose you."

Grabbing one box, Ollivander extracted its wand and swiftly placed it in her hand. "Now, then. Let's begin. This wand is ebony and unicorn hair. A bit springy, but give it a wave."

Hermione gave a wave of the wand. Several boxes flew off the shelf, clattering to the ground. This left her flustered and most apologetic. "I'm so, so sorry," she began before Ollivander.

"That happens more often than you might think," said the wandmaker reassuringly, taking the wand back and setting it back in its box. "Interesting reaction from the unicorn hair, but let's see what the other cores show us."

Turning back to Hermione, he handed her a new wand.

"Here we have hazel and phoenix feather, go ahead and try it."

Hermione gave the wand a wave and the footstool did a little somersault and flip in the air, landing back on its four feet.

Ollivander took the wand back. "It may not be phoenix feather," he said joyously. He put that wand back. "Let's see how dragon heartstring treats you."

He bent down and took another out of its box.

"Now, here," he said. "This wand is dragon heartstring and vine. A very fine wand, it matches your measurements as well. Have a try."

Hermione took hold of the wand, and let out a shuddering breath. "It...It feels warm," she said with great surprise.

"Remarkable," whispered Ollivander. "Give it a wave."

Hermione did so, and a shower of green, orange, and blue sparks shot out, which left Ollivander practically dumbstruck.

"That is the wand for you, my dear," Ollivander said, regaining his bearings, but sounding slightly disappointed. "Dear me, it's been quite a while since I've properly fitted someone during a core test."

Hermione let out a shout of triumph and excitedly rushed over to her brother to show him her new wand. Harry took it and looked it over with honest fascination. A cough turned their heads as they saw Ollivander waiting patiently for something. Harry realised he still needed his own wand.

Ollivander gestured to Harry, calling him over to the foot stool. "Now, then, Mr Potter, shall we?"

Harry handed his sister her new wand back and tentatively stepped onto the stool and turn around to face Mr Ollivander, who brought the measuring tape down into his hands. "Which is your wand arm?"

Harry held out his right hand. "Very good. Now, turn it palm up like your sister and spread your fingers."

Harry did as Mr Ollivander asked, and the wandmaker proceeded to take measurements as he had for Hermione. Finally finishing, Ollivander dashed off, absent-mindedly leaving the measuring tape to take more measurements, such as Harry's waist, inseam and from nostril to nostril before it wrapped itself around Harry's head like a turban, while the quill made doodles of Harry and Hermione on a separate piece of parchment.

"Eleven inches will do the trick for you, Mr Potter, just as it did for your father," Ollivander said, bustling about the back of the shop. Pulling three boxes off the shelves, Ollivander dashed back. He snapped his fingers and the tape measure fell into a heap at Harry's feet and the quill jumped back into its bottle. Setting three new boxes on the armchair, he opened one and pulled out Harry's first test wand.

"Beech and dragon heartstring, a nice, flexible wand. Have a go..."

Harry took the wand and gave it a wave. Midway through it, the umbrella stand shot a great column of fire up toward the ceiling. Ollivander quickly waved his wand, quelling the eruption, and snatched the wand out of Harry's hand almost at the same time. "Not dragon heartstring, I think," said the wandmaker in a detached manner.

Stowing the wand back in its box, he took out another and handed it to Harry. "Let's try unicorn hair. This is a willow wand, rather like your mother's, I think. Try it, if you please."

Harry took it and waved it. Nothing happened. He waved it thrice more. Again, nothing happened. Ollivander quickly took away the wand.

"Most likely not unicorn hair," he said, adding with great relish, "Which leaves...the phoenix."

Ollivander took out another wand and handed it to Harry.

"Here we are. Maple and phoenix feather, quite whippy. Try it out."

Harry waved the wand and the shop's window shattered outward into the street. Ollivander snatched the wand from Harry with one hand while waving his own wand at the window. The glass flew back into place to form the panes they had been before. Harry looked upon the act he caused in surprise, but Ollivander looked delighted.

"Definitely phoenix feather," said the wandmaker, triumphant, taking the wand from Harry. "Just not this one."

The wandmaker bustled about the back of his shop, muttering the names of several types of wood under his breath, pulling all manners of boxes off the shelves and stepping over the mess Hermione accidentally made. When he came back, he had Harry trying all manners of wands: elm, oak, sycamore, cherry... Ash, rowan, chestnut, apple, pear... Fir, pine, spruce... None of them had chosen Harry. Ollivander was certain that the cypress wand he had brought out would choose him, but that was not the case. Still, the wandmaker was engrossed in his testing Harry, though Harry and Hermione were feeling rather put off by the prolonged session. The mahogany and willow wands were not for Harry, either, which left no other wand for Harry to try. At least, no other wand that Ollivander brought forth for him. The wandmaker dashed back to his wares and pulled down several more wands. He was about to walk back to his customers, but he stopped at one shelf, gazing upon it with a foreboding and almost reverent expression.

"Oh, my... I almost forgot about you..." The wandmaker's voice trailed off. He let his previous selections clatter to the floor as he reached up and took down a long slender black box. "It does match his measurements, core most definitely does as well... I wonder..."

Harry watched as Ollivander came up to him with the oddest determination in his eyes. He opened the box and withdrew a new wand.

"This wand is made from a holly tree, phoenix feather contained within. Eleven inches in length, it matches your measurements as I have taken them. One of my more unusual combinations, but the wand itself is nice and supple. Try this one out first..."

Harry took the wand in his hand. A warmth unlike any he'd ever felt washed over him. He let out a shuddering breath. Ollivander said, "Give it a wave..."

Harry did just that, and released a shower of fiery red and shimmering gold sparks from the wand's tip.

"Well done," cried Ollivander. "Well done."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and muttered, "Thank goodness."

Ollivander took both their wands and wrapped them in brown paper and twine, murmuring to himself as he wrapped Harry's wand, "Curious, how very curious..."

The wandmaker charged them both seven Galleons for their wands. Hermione left, feeling very proud of herself. Harry, however, was rather put off by Ollivander's mutterings. He came back up to the counter. He asked, "Mr Ollivander?"

Ollivander looked up in surprise. Harry continued, "I'm sorry, but what was so curious about me having this wand?"

Ollivander looked upon Harry with solemnity. With that, he said to Harry, "As a wandmaker, I remember every wand I've sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand, and yours is a very fascinating one. The phoenix who provided your wand with its core gave another feather. Just one other. I find it curious that this wand would choose you when its brother marked you with that scar."

Harry automatically raised his hand to his scar in fright.

"Yes. Thirteen and a half inches, made of yew. Mr Potter, if I had ever known what he would become, I would never have let him buy it, let alone lay eyes on one."

Despite his previous regret, Ollivander spoke again with an uneasy sort of pride. "However, such matters are not mine to dictate. As I have said before, it is the wand that chooses the wizard. It has never been clear why this is so. What is clear, though, is that we can expect great things from you, Mr Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things as well. Terrible things, yes...but nonetheless great."

Harry left the wand shop in a daze, not focusing on where he was going, but entirely aware of his surroundings. He knew his parents would be at the book shop, so he made his way there. He saw Hagrid standing outside the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop, looking at goggles on a clearance rack. Hermione stood nearby, gazing quizzically at a display of action figures of supposedly famous professional Quidditch players. Despite his best efforts, Hagrid couldn't get a pair to fit around his head. A hassled-looking attendant came up to him, enchanted the goggles to fit and Hagrid looked most pleased with his selection. As he turned around and paid the attendant, Harry saw the giant man wearing the goggles and he froze. His mouth went dry and fell agape, he felt a chill wash over him, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Hagrid's appearance. He recognised Hagrid now as the man from his dream about the flying motorcycle.

Hagrid took notice of Harry, as did Hermione. Hermione came over to her brother, worried about his expression.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione asked him, but Harry's attention was focused entirely on Hagrid.

"You," Harry finally said to Hagrid. "You carried me on a flying motorcycle. 'Just a little farther, Harry. You'll be safe and sound in no time.'"

Hagrid's mouth fell agape as he took off the goggles, looking at Harry in wonder. Laurence and Jean had come back from the bookshop. They heard their son's remark and looked upon the scene in confusion.

"You remember that?" said Hagrid breathlessly.

"Harry, what are you talking about?" Jean asked, her worry growing.

Laurence looked to Hagrid and asked, "What is my son talking about?"

Hagrid looked unsurely at his feet, then back up to Laurence.

"I brought Harry to your door, sir," he said sadly.

The Granger family looked upon Hagrid in shock.

"If you let me buy you dinner at the Cauldron, I'll explain everything," Hagrid asked the family. "Please."

The family nodded their consent. Hagrid led them back to the pub. Harry could feel himself growing tense at what the gamekeeper could end up telling them.

* * *

_**AN**: For me, this was entirely about making everything noticeably different but still keeping it familiar. I didn't want to entirely rehash everything from the books, but I still didn't want to stray too far from it all either. I tried doing a new poem for the Gringotts doors because I know I'll have to do something new for the Sorting Hat when the time comes. No doubt you all have noticed I gave all the Quidditch clubs in this treatment names more resembling European club names. One of the nicknames I gave Pride of Portree may not be grammatically correct, as I'm not fluent, or even remotely familiar, with Scottish Gaelic; so, if you speak it, please tell me if I need to change it._

_**AN2**: In regards to the amount in Harry's vault, I never felt comfortable just hearing Harry had a lot of money in his vault. I always wanted to hear a set amount or something, so I made an attempt to give the Harry in my treatment just that. I originally did the math in pounds, then converted those figures to Galleons with Rowling's statement that 1 Galleon was about 5 pounds. The £5.12=1G conversion rate came from her introduction to "Quidditch Through the Ages" - wherein she stated that £174million ~ 34million G - and was applied only to the end result of Griphook's explanation._

_**AN3**: The wand fitting that I concocted for this is far different from what Rowling put forward in PS, but I wanted something that was much more deliberate rather than the willy-nilly method Ollivander had in that chapter. I felt that if he were taking measurements for someone, then that needed to serve an actual purpose. So, I decided to make it a way to find the proper length for a witch's or wizard's wand. The idea of testing cores has no basis in the Potter canon. It was just an offshoot of thinking up the measurement aspect of finding the right length wand. Typically, what he looks for is a sort of middle ground, where the young wizard does magic that isn't entirely weak, but not entirely destructive either. While that wasn't really the case with Harry's testing, it was as close as Ollivander could get given the results. This might take away from the wandlore aspect of everything, but it just felt right to me._

_Anyhoo, that's all I have to say for now (man, that was long-winded). Please read and review. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to update sooner._


	6. Chapter 6: The Fate of the Potters

_Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling._

_**AN:** So, here is Chapter 6. I had meant to upload this chapter yesterday, given that it was Rowling's birthday (and Harry's, but Rowling is the more important of the two, really). But, life, along with the people within it, happened to take place while I was working on this, and my desire to update was quickly offset by it (isn't that always the case?). Regardless, I present to you Chapter 6 of this story. It's not as long as I had wanted it to be, but I still feel it is a solid chapter in of itself._

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Chapter Six  
**The Fate of the Potters**

McGonagall had long since left Diagon Alley, leaving the Grangers to their own devices, but not before giving her thanks to Laurence and Jean for finally agreeing to let Harry and Hermione attend the school. After she had explained the circumstances that brought Harry to their family, she stated that her duties required her to return to the school grounds immediately. She added that Hagrid could answer any further questions they had about the rest of the Magical World, before she swiftly left the bookshop and the Alley.

Here now, the family sat at a table within the Leaky Cauldron. Hagrid sat nervously at one side of the table while the entire Granger family took up the other side, Harry and Hermione to Hagrid's left, the parents to his right. Each member of the family was as nervous as the gamekeeper.

Hagrid held in both hands a tankard of stout, gazing deeply into it. All four Grangers looked upon him anxiously, awaiting him to begin his tale. Hagrid took a long draught of his beer. When he set it down, the tankard was empty.

"Where should I start?" he finally said.

"You said you brought Harry to our home," Jean said simply.

With a sigh, Hagrid admitted, "To be honest, it weren't just me. There was me, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall."

"McGonagall?" Hermione shouted.

"She said nothing to us about that," cried Harry indignantly.

"She explained it to us," stated Jean, calming her children. "In the bookshop, she told us that she and Professor Dumbledore brought you to us, Harry."

"She had mentioned you," Laurence said to Hagrid. "Just not very strongly."

"Yeah. That night, she was worried I might hurt Harry," Hagrid said, gesturing to Harry, stressing, "_Accidentally_ hurt you. She always knew I was a kind bloke. But, I do have a tendency to be a bit rough when I don't intend to be. But, like I said, I'd never do anything harm a hair on Harry's head."

"Dumbledore trusted Harry to you," Jean said. "How could you protect him? The professor told us you aren't allowed a wand."

"I may not be allowed a wand, but I can still hold my own against any witch or wizard all the same," Hagrid explained. "Anyway, Dumbledore followed you back home," nodding to Laurence, "and watched you lot being a family. When he was satisfied with who you were, he sent McGonagall to make sure your home was safe, keep watch so that no one tried anything. Not that he thought anybody would come after you, but you can't be too careful. Once she decided the coast was clear, she sent word to me and Dumbledore. We all met at your home, set Harry at your door, and Dumbledore stuck around to make sure you took him in all right."

The last part of Hagrid's statement fell uneasily upon the Granger family. He watched them take in Harry, and he said nothing to them. They didn't even see him anywhere around their house.

"He didn't—did he use Magic on us to—" Laurence began, before stopping to choose a better way of putting it.

Hagrid understood what Laurence was getting at and was quick to assuage Laurence's worries. "Dumbledore wouldn't do nothing of the sort. The Charms wouldn't have took hold if he did that."

"What Charms?" Jean asked, panicked at this fact.

Hagrid stammered a bit.

"Hagrid," Laurence sternly said, just as panicked as Jean. "What sort of spells did Dumbledore cast on our home?"

The gamekeeper gulped before he explained, "Dumbledore put Charms all about your home to protect Harry, and all of you as well."

"Charms to protect us from what?" Laurence asked.

"From whoever killed my parents?" asked Harry. The question caught everyone by surprise, Hagrid more so than anyone else.

Mouth gaping in astonishment, Hagrid asked him, "Where did you hear that?"

Harry nervously explained, "I...Ollivander...after I got my wand...he told me he sold a wand to another man... and that wand..." Harry swallowed and, pointing a finger at his scar, finished explaining, "...did this."

Laurence sighed, "Oh."

"I think that...if he did that to me, then...he must have had something to do with them...dying."

A sorrowful silence fell over the table.

"Aye," said Hagrid sadly. "He did."

"Is that what McGonagall told you?" Harry asked his parents.

Laurence and Jean nodded sadly to their son. Laurence reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a new leather-bound book, a title embossed on the front cover in a sort of faded gold leaf, _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. He handed the book to his son, saying, "Seeing all those people react to you being in the Leaky Cauldron got me thinking that you were important to them, really important. We didn't understand how much until we saw it in there."

Harry began flipping trough the book's pages to find the tale, before his mother said to him, "They only wrote a generalisation about it all. It only says how it affected the Magical World."

"There's nothing about the man who did it," added Laurence.

"You'd be hard-pressed to find someone who would write about him," Hagrid said.

"Who was he?" asked Laurence. "McGonagall wouldn't say anything about him either. All she said was that they were killed by a man. Why is that such a Great Wizarding Event?"

Harry could see that Hagrid was just as nervous about talking about all this as McGonagall was. The gamekeeper began, "The thing you need to understand is...not all wizards are good."

"I work in law enforcement, Mr Hagrid," Laurence stated plainly. "I know all about bad people."

"You don't know bad people like wizards do," Hagrid intoned. "Especially not like him. He was the worst. No," he quickly corrected himself. "He was worse than the worst."

"What was his name?" asked Hermione.

"We don't say his name," Hagrid answered with a great deal of foreboding. "Not even if we have to. Scares the lot of us to our very souls if someone says it aloud."

"Can you write it down?"

Hagrid seemed reluctant to do so, but agreed to her request all the same. "Just need to remember how to spell it," Hagrid said. He took a pencil and paper from Laurence. He looked to the ceiling in deep thought, as if he were remembering some difficult math problem. He began scribbling something on the paper, trembling at the very end, almost as if some force were keeping him from finishing. Fortunately, he did finish writing the name. He turned the paper over and slid it to the family, warning, "Just don't say it aloud."

Jean took the paper. In a very untidy scrawl was written a single name: **LORD VOLDEMORT**. Undeterred by Hagrid's warning, she said the name aloud.

Hagrid flinched and let out a frightened whimper, his eyes squeezed shut tightly. He opened one slightly, looking about the room panicked. He returned to normal when he saw that nothing followed Jean's utterance, letting out a sigh of relief.

"It's that bad?" Laurence asked incredulously.

"Like I said," Hagrid answered, waving his tankard to Tom, who quickly filled another. "He was worse than the worst. Most wizards, they call him either You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The first one's simpler. We never call him by...that name. That's the sort of fear he put in us."

After Tom brought the new beer to Hagrid and left, Hagrid restarted the story. "See, about twenty years back, he started up all sorts of trouble. He'd been about several years before, but it weren't until he started looking for followers, anyone that'd hear what he had to say about the Wizard's true place in the world. He got his followers and then trouble wasn't too far behind. Those people that went over to his side, all of them were afraid of him, but he cowed them to his every whim right away—some because he bewitched them; others 'cause they wanted a bit of his power; the rest went by their own free will because they were so twisted and bent that they didn't give a damn what they did or who they hurt or killed.

"When James and Lily left Hogwarts, the War of the Wizards started. They married each other almost the very moment they left the school. They didn't know when they'd get another chance, or even if they would. The war lasted about four years and saw too many lives lost. You-Know-Who led all the bad ones, everyone that wanted the wizards to rule everyone and everything. We had Dumbledore and the Ministry on our side. Dumbledore, I reckon he was the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of. Everyone says so, anyway.

"You-Know-Who went about terrorising all of Britain, Magical and Muggle, gaining more and more power year by year. James and Lily were quick to join Dumbledore's side. After his parents died, James came into a lot of money. He nearly bankrupted himself buying those safe houses for our side and helping any Muggle-born witch or wizard that wanted or, more likely than not, needed to hide or leave the country.

Upon seeing the shocked looks on the Grangers' faces, Hagrid explained, albeit reluctantly, "See, You-Know-Who wasn't just about putting the wizards in charge of everything—he also wanted to make them all Pure-blood. No Muggle-borns could exist in his 'perfect world'. He'd only put up with half-bloods, but just barely. So many Muggle-borns died in those days, and they damn well shouldn't have. James even tried to get Lily out of the country once, but she put her foot down and told him she was staying and fighting.

"Rumour has it You-Know-Who himself tried to sway James to his lot. James wasn't about to side with some monster that wanted to kill his wife and everyone like her. He turned that slimy git down flat and barely got away with his life.

"Anyone tried to stand up to him to his face, he killed them, and horribly at that. The McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts—all of them fell when he faced them. But not James. Seems like that got under his skin like nothing else.

Hagrid took another drink and continued, "It was about ten years ago when the war was winding down. You-Know-Who had the upper hand, but for some reason, he was still after James. No one knew why. We still don't. Then, one night, he tracked them down. The dead of night, on Halloween, he found them out in Godric's Hollow. And he..." Hagrid choked up, began sobbing into his new beer, before he resumed the story, blubbering, "He killed 'em. Killed James and Lily right in their very home..."

Harry could feel himself becoming sick. His eyes began to water. To Harry, he continued, "He was about to strike you down, maybe to make a clean job of it, maybe because he liked killin' so much by that time, I don't know, no one does. But, he cast a curse at you. It did hit you, but it flew back at him. You ever wonder how you got that scar?"

"We always thought I got it in a car crash," Harry said meekly, holding his hand to his scar.

"Car crash? Nah, no car crash makes a scar like that. Mark like that comes a curse, and a terrible one at that. The one he cast at you as a baby... The force of it when it went back at him, it nearly destroyed the entire house, but you survived it. You survived it striking you and the force it released hitting him. You survived his fury when so many died at his hands. That's why you're famous, Harry. That's why everyone in the Magical World knows your name. You're the Boy Who Lived."

Harry felt sick. He felt like the entire world was closing in on him. Had Hermione not been holding his hand, he'd have tried to run for the bathroom or out into Muggle London, away from all of this. All this reverence and these long overdue revelations. All of it felt stifling, like the entire world was falling on top of him.

Jean asked Hagrid, "What happened to...him? To...You-Know Who?"

Hagrid sighed, "A lot of folks think he died after the attack. That's nothing but codswallop. Doubt there was enough human left in 'im to die properly. People like Dumbledore say he's in hiding somewhere. I believe him. You-Know-Who ain't dead, but he's out there, weaker that he ever was, biding his time and looking for a way to come back to life."

Hagrid drank his second beer entirely, before he continued. "We figure you had been in the house all alone for about an hour, Harry, before help came. I found you in the wreckage, bundled you up, took you out of there and borrowed a motorcycle—the flying one, you remember—from a friend of theirs and flew out of there as fast as the bike could take us. We hid from home after home, not staying anywhere too long, not telling anyone where we'd be hiding next.

"I only heard bits and pieces about the aftermath of the attack. From what I heard, that day was chaos. Pandemonium all over the country. No one really knew what was happening. The good side got wind of the attack, heard that You-Know-Who was done for, got angry that that bastard would something so horrible as try to kill a child. They went on the offensive, rounding up all the followers that were still around, who didn't know what was happening, trying to figure out if what they heard about their master was true. A few of them got away, convinced everyone that they got bewitched to do bad things on his orders. Most of them died fighting, but the rest got locked up and they ain't getting out any time soon.

"The last place we hid was a home outside a village near the River Otter. That was when the fireworks lit up the sky. When that happened, we knew—everyone knew—the fighting was done. The war was over. We were safe. Harry was safe. Shortly after the sky went back to normal, Dumbledore sent word. He told us he'd found Harry a good home, and that I was to bring you there right away...

"I guess you know the rest of the story now," Hagrid concluded uneasily.

No one knew how to respond. Everything they just heard, everything Hagrid had told them, seemed too strange, too surreal, to be true. The story of James and Lily Potter's demise, how he truly got his scar. That there had been a war within their country, and that they heard nothing about it. That Harry was a symbol of hope and triumph for the Magical Community was the most unbelievable thing to ever fall upon their ears in all their lifetimes.

"May I be excused, please?" asked Harry, almost in a whisper that sounded so pained and heart-rending. Hermione quickly moved aside and Harry made his way to the pub's men's room. He needed to get away from all this: from the revelations that turned everything he knew upside down, from the cold hard facts of the murder of his birth parents, from what everyone in this newly-revealed world truly thought of him.

Harry shoved open the door to the men's room and braced himself at the sink. He looked into the drain as if the drain itself were responsible for his parents' death. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his thoughts. He felt a memory rising up from the depths of his mind. The green light rushed forward, but before that, there came a high, cold, cruel laugh. He felt himself growing cold and sick at the thought of that laugh and of the echoes it left behind as it resonated through his mind. He splashed his face with water and took several deep breaths. Wiping his face, he opened the door. Standing outside was Hermione, looking upon him sadly, nervously, but more concerned than anything else.

"I'm fine, 'Mione," said Harry glumly, making his way past her.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his place. "No, you're not," she said to him gently. "Who could be after hearing that?"

Harry did everything to stay strong in front of his sister. He didn't want to let her see him like this. He didn't want to cry. But, no matter what he tried to tell himself, no matter how he willed himself to remain stoic and show no sign that everything was getting, he could not keep all the pent-up rage and sadness he felt at his birth parents' deaths from staying hidden. Soon, the dam burst and Harry began sobbing uncontrollably. Hermione was quick to come up to Harry and take her brother into a strong embrace, letting him bury his face into her shoulder.

"It's not fair," Harry sobbed, his words muffled as he buried his face into Hermione's shoulder.

"No, it's not," his sister agreed.

"I don't remember anything about it. Why have I got to be famous for it? Why do I have to be famous for them dying?"

"The _idea_ of you is famous, Harry," Hermione opined, holding him at arm's length and looking him square in the eye. Her eyes were just as filled with tears as his, though she had yet to shed any. "Everyone here, they have this image of you built up in their heads and they want so badly for it to be true. You're just some figment to them, not a real person of flesh and blood. You can show them that there's more than just your name and your story. And don't you ever think that you're responsible for what happened to them. It was his fault. It will always be his fault."

Harry looked away. "Come on," she said consolingly. "Everything will be all right. You've got so many people that care about you. Mum, Dad, and me. You are not going to deal with this alone. We are with you every step of the way. Now and always."

Harry smiled sadly at his sister's assurance. He looked upon his sister with a kind of deep respect. He once more saw in her his sister, the one person who had been, by and large, his very best friend. But, in this gaze, he saw a sort of uneasiness, as if something more than what they just heard had bothered her.

"Harry," she said, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. "I'm sorry about what happened at the zoo. I should have done something more to get you out of trouble."

"It's all right," Harry replied. He took a step toward the pub. She took hold of his wrist, and pulled him back to face her.

"No, it's not all right," she rebuked. "I lost my temper and you got blamed for it. In what way is that all right?"

"You didn't have any control over it. You're not to blame."

"You're still angry about it, though." Hermione had hit the nail on the head, and Harry knew it. As much as he wanted to repeat everything he had already said, some small part of him still fumed about having been the scapegoat for Hermione's accidental magic. As much as he wanted to rail against her for it, he also needed to hear her say why she'd done it.

"What were you thinking?" he asked her. "When you made the glass disappear, what were you thinking about when you did it?"

She looked down and honestly said, "I saw him hit you, and when I looked up at him again, I just thought, 'I wish that horrible boy were trapped in this zoo instead of that snake.' Next thing I knew, he was."

Harry looked at her, bemused at her admission and surprised at her rather vindictive motivation. Soon, though, he began laughing. It rose from his belly and shortly thereafter, he doubled over. Hermione

"You got your wish, then," said Harry, gasping through his laughter.

"Harry, it's not funny," Hermione admonished her brother.

"It is a little funny."

"I set a giant snake loose and trapped a boy in its place."

"And you stood up for your brother."

Hermione was about to make a retort, but quickly put a stop to it. The look on Harry's face, a near-perfect blend of cheek and admiration (though his eyes, still fresh with sorrow, betrayed the look he gave her), kept her from saying any more against her actions. Her mouth curled slightly into a smile, a proud smile. Harry took her into a hug this time around and thanked her.

Hermione led him back to the family. Laurence and Jean watched their children return, worried at their son's potential state, but more perplexed at their children's collectively jovial mood. They soon found themselves happy to see that Harry wasn't too bothered and that Hermione helped significantly to calm him down and bring him back to his normal self. Satisfied with how Harry was, Hagrid went about ordering everyone a plate of cottage pie, as well as a glass of wine for Jean (Laurence passed on having a stout, as he would need to drive everyone back home).

Throughout dinner, Hagrid spoke of fonder thoughts on Hogwarts. His tales enthralled the family, especially Harry and Hermione, though it worried Laurence and Jean to find out the school's Black Lake contained a Giant Squid. "He's a pushover," said Hagrid with a chuckle. "All the big beasts are just softies. I know. I'm one of 'em."

The dinner went pleasantly enough. Laurence and Jean explained their lives and their professions to Hagrid. This left him looking like someone that had just been explained string theory when they had only asked the answer to 2 + 2. Despite that initial confusion, Hagrid took on very kindly to the Granger parents and showed a great deal of respect to their professions.

Hagrid went about ordering trifles for both children. As they feasted, it appeared to Hagrid that something was nagging at Laurence.

"What's bothering you, Laurence?" the gamekeeper asked the detective.

"Just remembering something you said," mused Laurence. "You said that James almost bankrupted himself in this war. I don't mean to sound greedy, but...does that mean the rest of Harry's inheritance isn't all that much?"

Hagrid explained. "Well, yes and no. James went through a bit of a change just before the war began. It was the damnedest thing. Pardon my language," he stopped to apologise, before resuming, "James was always a kind kid. He were an only child and his parents had him late in their lives. The way he told it, they always spoiled him rotten. Well, _almost_ always spoiled him rotten, I should say. They died just before his seventh year, before the war started. That shook him hard. He musta started thinking they spent too much on him. He started sayin' a man ought not to have more money than he needed to live well. He decided he needed to do somethin' better with all his gold.

"So, like I told you, he went about buying safe houses and smugglin' the Muggle-borns out of Britain to safety. A few investments he made did pay off, but he quickly put the profits toward helping the war effort.

Hagrid explained further. "A lot of the Muggle-borns he helped get out of the country didn't want to take his money, not without promising they would repay him. James wouldn't hear of it, though. He told them every single of 'em they weren't beholden to him, they weren't in his debt. All they needed to do was to survive, and have good lives after they got away. When they came back to Britain and found out he and Lily had been killed, several of them talked the goblins into letting them return the money he lent 'em to his accounts, so as to honour James and his family for helping them."

"They recouped his entire fortune?" Jean asked astonished.

"It made the front page of the _Daily Prophet_," Hagrid said, adding, just as to clarify, "Wizarding Britain's biggest newspaper. Yeah, when word got out that one of the Muggle-borns had done that, others followed suit. Pretty soon, everyone he helped repaid the money he used to help them, mostly as a way to thank him, but more as a way to see that Harry would be taken care of."

Once Harry and Hermione finished their desserts, the time came for the Granger family to head home. Laurence and Jean thanked Hagrid for dinner, and Hermione thanked him for helping her and Harry with their shopping. Harry came up last and hugged Hagrid as best he could, given that his arms weren't nearly long enough to wrap themselves around the gamekeeper.

"It was good to see you again, Harry," said the gamekeeper fondly.

"Hagrid," Harry said sadly. "Thank you for today, and for before."

"Think nothing of it, lad," Hagrid said. "I'll see you at the school. You enjoy the rest of your holidays." The family filed into the car and drove back to Greenwich, Hagrid waving goodbye as their car drove out of sight. Harry watched out the back windscreen as the giant man went back into the pub, most likely to get another round before heading back to the school.

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When the Grangers got back home, Laurence and Jean marveled at everything the kids got for their new school term. Just as Harry and Hermione suspected, Jean was especially awestruck by their new telescopes and quickly suggested they take a trip to get a glimpse of Saturn and Jupiter before they had to start their term. Laurence perused the spellbooks that the children got, as well as his copy of Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, amazed at how the drawings and photographs moved on their own.

The presents his family had got him before the day's trip into Diagon Alley were impressive. To be frank, they did pale in comparison. The latest video game console seemed—at least, it did to Hermione—to be less impressive than a book with pictures that moved all by themselves. All the same, Harry was most eager to get a crack at beating the first level by noon tomorrow.

Before Harry even got a chance to start, though, the time came for Harry and Hermione to go to bed. The children went up to bed. Harry lay in bed, going over and over in his head the day's events. A knock came at his door that shook him from his ruminations.

"Harry? Can I come in?" he heard his mother call.

"Yeah, Mum," Harry answered.

Jean came in and sat on the side of his bed. She smiled down on him, her brown eyes seeming rather misty.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said.

"I'm sorry this birthday wasn't what you expected," Jean said apologetically.

"It's okay, Mum," Harry said. "I don't think any of us were expecting anything like this to happen today."

"Your father probably did," his mother said wryly. Both mother and son laughed slightly.

"I never thought I'd hear something like this about my parents."

"Neither did I."

"I miss them," Harry said, letting his guard down a little more. "I didn't even know them. I barely remember them. But, I miss them."

"I know you do, darling," Jean replied, brushing back some of her son's hair. "In a better time, they would still be alive. They would have been the ones that had been blessed to raise you. I'm more than certain that they loved you and the last thing they wanted was to be taken from you. To lose every opportunity to see you grow up and not be a part of it. The best you can do now is to live a good life, a happy life, like they wanted you to have."

Harry quickly sat up and hugged his mother tightly, which she returned to him in kind.

"Do you think they'd be proud of me?" Harry said.

"I do, absolutely," Jean replied. "Who wouldn't be? You don't give yourself enough credit sometimes. You and your sister."

With a slight chuckle, she added, "Not to sound rude, considering what I just said, but I am very happy that your father and I are the ones who got to raise you and watch you grow up."

"So am I," Harry said to her honestly. Jean gave him a kiss on his temple and tucked him in as he nestled under the covers.

"Now, get some good sleep," Jean said happily. "It would be the perfect way to end the day."

"Mum," Harry called to his mother, stopping her at the threshold to his room. "Would you check on Hermione before she goes to bed? I'm worried she still thinks I'm angry about what happened at the zoo."

"Are you?" Jean asked.

"I am, but only a little," Harry replied. "I just don't want her to feel sorry about it any more."

"Of course I'll make certain she's all right, Harry."

"Thank you." Jean was about to close the door, before Harry stopped her again, calling, "Mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I love you."

"And I love you, Harry. Good night," Jean told him fondly.

With that, she turned off the light and closed the door. Harry lay awake for several more minutes before he drifted off into a peaceful slumber, free of any nightmares, but full of thoughts about what would come in the term to come.

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_**AN:** Some thoughts on James... While there is nothing in canon to support anything that I wrote of James doing here, the idea of him doing all this felt truer to me than anything I had read of him in the past, and of the Potters' wealth in general (though the idea of the people he helped repaying him after his death appealed to me too much to leave it out). I felt like this sort of motivation reflected more on his character than just being a roguish freedom fighter._

_So, thank you for reading. Please read and review, and I will see you later._


	7. Chapter 7: The Hogwarts Express

Disclaimer: The _Harry Potter_ series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

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Chapter Seven  
**The Hogwarts Express**

The day after the family's visit to Diagon Alley, a delivery came for Harry. Sitting on his desk in his room, when he woke up that morning, was a beautiful snowy owl, white with little black specks and bright yellow eyes, perched atop a gleaming gilded cage. Somehow, it got the window to his room open and came inside with its cage. As Harry stood up, the owl flew on his shoulder and began nibbling affectionately at his ear. Harry giggled slightly and scratched at the back of the owl's neck as he took notice of a note fastened to the cage. Harry quickly saw the untidy scrawl of Hagrid on the note.

_Dear Harry,_

_I was very happy to see you yesterday. It occurred to me shortly after you and your family left the Cauldron (a lot later than it should have—sorry about that) that yesterday was also your birthday. So, I figured that I needed to get you a present. No doubt you'll recognise that this is an owl. Owls are very good for any witch or wizard to have. They make for damn loyal pets and are bloody useful to boot. Wizards use them to deliver their post. So, this way, not only will you have a good pet, you'll also have a great way for your parents to keep in touch with you and Hermione._

_I ain't named her yet. Figured I'd leave that honour to you._

_See you at Hogwarts soon enough. I look forward to it._

_Yours, Hagrid._

_P.S.: Dumbledore told me that since I'd be sending my present to you, it'd be convenient to send your tickets for the Hogwarts Express with it as well. Keep hold of these and make certain you stick to what it says. Do that and you'll be at Hogwarts in no time._

_I'll see you there._

Harry looked over at the owl. Its talons dug into his shoulder, but not strongly as it would for a smaller animal, only enough to have a purchase and not be shaken off. He soon realised he needed to tell his parents that he had been a new pet for his birthday by a man that was something of a stranger still to the family. He opened the door to the hall. The owl down to the ground floor, where it let out a cry, which was followed very promptly by screams from the rest of his family.

Harry ran downstairs to see his mother cowering at the kitchen table. Hermione was hiding right beside her. Laurence had rolled up his newspaper, and was swinging it at the bird, who was crying in anger and fear, her wings outstretched and beak open so as to strike at the thing in the angry man's hand.

Harry whistled shrilly. Everyone stopped screaming and Laurence stopped swinging the paper at the owl. The owl quickly flew to Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, what the hell is going on?" yelled Laurence.

"It's an owl," Harry said simply.

"I know what it is," his father said. "What the hell is it doing in our house?"

Harry handed the letter to his father. As Laurence took it, the owl let out a cry that deafened Harry and made Laurence step back cautiously. Laurence read the letter quickly, and said, "That man Hagrid sent you this bird? To keep?"

"Is he insane?" Jean cried.

"Why not?" Harry said to them. "She's pretty."

"So are tigers, but you don't keep them in your home," Laurence shouted.

"But, Dad," Harry moaned. The owl flew off Harry's shoulder and over to Hermione's, where she began preening the girl's hair. This startled Hermione at first, but very soon, she giggled as the bird ran its beak through her hair, combing out the tangles. She nuzzled up to Hermione. Despite her initial fright, Hermione took to the bird very kindly. She raised her hand and scratched the owl behind her neck. The owl cooed appreciatively.

"I like her," Hermione said fondly.

"See? She likes us," Harry said to his father.

"She likes you kids," Laurence corrected his son. He threw his paper down onto his chair. "All right, fine. You are in charge of taking care of her, Harry, seeing as Hagrid gave her to you. You feed her and provide her with water. She stays in your room when we have company. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"Good," Laurence said, sitting down and reopening his newspaper. The owl bristled at the sight of it. "Please take your new pet upstairs, Harry."

Harry did as he was asked. On the way up, he heard his father say, "Make certain you give her a sensible name. Nothing like Beaky, or what have you. Something truly befitting a bird as beautiful as that."

"Yes, Dad," Harry replied, slightly amused at his father's comment.

Harry spent the rest of that day perusing his spellbooks alongside Hermione. She had come up to join him, as she was eager to become better acquainted with the new owl. Quizzing each other on Potions and Charms and most of all their other subjects, they studied every aspect of the Magical World they now had their newly acquired resources. Reviewing his History of Magic textbook, Harry came across the name Hedwig. As soon as he said this name to the owl, her head perked slightly as if that name, that one word, took on some deeper meaning than anything the owl had ever thought or heard in her lifetime. She chirped happily when Harry called her by that name again.

"Hedwig is her name, then," Harry laughed.

Hedwig quickly flew to Harry and began nibbling affectionately at his ear once more.

"It's a good name," Hermione agreed.

Harry looked again at the tickets Hagrid had included with his note. He hadn't looked at the tickets properly, owing to the fact he devoted most of his attention upon Hedwig. But, now he saw something truly odd about the tickets. They called for him and Hermione to go to King's Cross to catch a train, the Hogwarts Express, on the First of September at Platform 9 He showed the tickets to Hermione, who took on a queer look as she read them.

"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" she asked him. "There's no such place, is there?"

"I wouldn't be too sure," he said back to her.

When the children came downstairs for dinner, Harry told his parents the name he gave his new pet. Jean liked the name, as did his father, who commented, "That's a rather distinguished one. And she likes it? The owl, I mean?"

"She seems to," Harry said. He asked his father, "Could I let her out to fly around at night? They are creatures of the night, after all."

"That's fine," Laurence told him. "So long as you clean up after her every morning."

"Yes, dad."

"And, just, make sure she doesn't fly downstairs too often. Understood?"

"Okay, dad."

Harry also showed his parents the tickets for the Hogwarts Express. They looked at them just as Hermione had done.

"Sometimes, I feel like I've gone completely mad," Laurence said to no one in particular.

"How can there be a Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" Jean asked.

"However that may be, we won't really know until the First," Laurence replied. "For now, we just wait until we go there."

The next morning, no sooner had Harry sat down to breakfast with his family when Hedwig flew to the table and perched herself on the back of Laurence's chair. Laurence looked back in surprise.

"Harry, yesterday, what did I tell you about Hedwig?" the man asked his son.

"That she has to stay upstairs," Harry recited.

"Then, why is she down here, standing on the back of my chair?"

"Maybe she wants to read the paper?"

"Take Hedwig back upstairs, please," Laurence told Harry. He turned the page of the newspaper, but stopped when Hedwig let out a squawk, almost as if to say, "Hey! I wasn't finished with that article!"

The action surprised everyone, Laurence most of all, given that he was well within earshot of the bird. He turned back the page, most unnerved and surprised, and held it at her eye level. Hedwig looked intently at the newspaper, before she tapped him on the shoulder with her beak. Laurence turned the page in a very nonplussed fashion. Hedwig chirped appreciatively and took in the new page.

Harry and Hermione began to laugh at the sight of their father and Harry's pet inadvertently bonding. Jean took up her children's reaction as well. Laurence could only look on, bemused at the situation, just as Hedwig was. But, very soon after, Laurence could only laugh about it as well, leaving only the owl to look upon the humans' behaviour with something akin to confusion.

Thereafter, Hedwig would join Laurence in reading the paper.

* * *

About a week after the visit to Diagon Alley, the family held a dinner to celebrate Harry's birthday with their grandparents. Granddad Andy was eager to hear that his grandchildren were accepted into a prestigious school. Though, they could say nothing to him or to Laurence's parents, Donald and Irene, about it, being that they were Muggles. So, the family settled, against their desire not to lie to their elders, to concoct a story about a boarding school in Scotland.

"What's the name of the school?" Andrew asked.

"St. Ignatius," Laurence replied. "It's a little ways outside of Aberdeen, I think."

"It's a Catholic school, then?" Donald asked.

"They seemed fairly secular to us," Jean answered. "Apparently, Harry's birth parents went there. The school offered him a place because of that."

"We learned their names were James and Lily," Harry told his parents.

Jean added, "They were very respectable people, from what the school's representative told us."

"Very good to hear," Andrew stated. "Just glad you got to know at least a little about them, Harry."

"Well, what about Hermione?" Irene asked.

"We spoke with the school's administrators, and they're eager to see her as a student as well," said Laurence. "Her marks were so exceptional, they instantly jumped at the chance to admit her."

"That's damn good," Andrew said. "Any place that doesn't take her isn't a good place at all."

The rest of the night was spent discussing many of the things in Muggle World they were most fond of—what team had the best of winning the Cup; how business was going for their grandparents; how Jean's garden was coming along. No more talk about the school or the kids' upcoming term came up, which no one minded.

* * *

The days since the party bled together. The kids' studied until it felt like their eyes would pop out and run away to stop the strain. But, all the same, they came to be very knowledgeable about many things in the Wizarding World, Hermione more so than Harry, though Harry was quick to show he was more learned in the areas of Quidditch and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

The rest of their holidays went splendidly. The night before they were to leave for Hogwarts, the family had a big dinner, just Laurence, Jean, Hermione, and Harry. Laurence grilled some steaks for everyone. Jean made dessert, a cake with with chocolate icing which she also decorated with a purple crest with the letter H, just like they had seen before.

The whole evening was pleasant and lovely, right up to the point where the kids went to bed. Their trunks and books were all set to go. Harry bid Hedwig good night and lay down to sleep.

* * *

_It was cold. Cold as a winter's day. Snow was falling, the ground taking on a pure white cover. So, it was safe to assume that it really was winter at the present moment._

_When Harry looked to his right, he saw the oddest sight. There was a tree. A cherry tree, and it was in full bloom, its blossoms unaffected by the cold or the frost. Playing in front of the tree was a girl, a girl with claret-red hair. When she looked up, Harry saw her eyes matched his in shape and hue. The girl ran to the tree and clambered through the hole near its base, disappearing into it as easily as any animal that was apt to live down there._

_Harry felt compelled to follow her, despite his wariness at playing Alice. The hole leading down beneath the tree was narrow, barely big enough for him to squeeze through, but he was able to get through. The dirt passage was laced with roots and lined with some moss, all of it squirming with insects. Harry gingerly avoiding stepping on or laying a hand on any of them._

_A light shone at the far end, telling Harry he was almost out of this dirty passage. He climbed out and fell onto a wood floor. A stable structure made of wood. As he got to his feet, Harry saw that he was in a home. At least, he thought it was a home. It felt like a home. To him, anyway. As he looked around wildly, his eyes fell upon the girl._

_Except, this was a different girl than the one he saw outside the tree. Her hair was red like the girl before. Except it was not red like a claret. More like a flaming, fiery copper red. And whereas the first girl had a complexion as white as alabaster, this girl's face was adorned with a spattering of freckles. Her eyes, too, were different. Whereas the girl outside had almond-shaped green eyes like Harry had, this girl had chocolate brown eyes that were narrower than the other girl's. The second girl ran down the rickety stairs. Harry was quick to follow suit. She dashed down the steps, her long coppery tresses flying behind her. Harry followed as best he could, but the girl was faster than he was. She got to the bottom and ran through the door, slamming the door behind her. When Harry got to the ground floor, he threw open the door—to find a passenger train rushing by._

_It surprised him, to say the least, to find a train outside this place, but this was a dream after all. _Stranger things have happened_, he thought to himself as he stepped through the door onto a train platform. No sooner had he thought that then an even stranger sight fell upon his eyes. The train morphed from steel and glass to a long body of scales. The mass slithered past and Harry looked up to see a truly frightening sight—a giant snake looked down upon him. It hissed and reared back its head, ready to strike Harry and consume him whole._

_Just as it lunged at him, a roar sounded through the darkness, and a large beast took the snake in its jaws. A sickening crunch resounded through the darkness. The beast released the snake and it fell over dead. The blood gushed from its neck. Harry staggered back to avoid the fountain that spewed from the creature's veins. Harry looked up again to see a giant lion looking down on him. The lion stood proudly, with a dusty flaxen body and a mane as red as the soil from where it hailed. Its lips and jaw glistened with the snake's blood. With a look of regard to Harry, he went back into the darkness, leaving Harry shaken. _

_When he turned back to look at the snake, it was gone. Nowhere to be seen. Not even its blood was left behind._

_Harry looked wildly about the room, seeing nothing but the darkness. A cold feeling rose from his stomach, permeating his very being. A snarl from behind him turned his head. The snake rose over him. Its eyes glowed with an eerie green light, the green light that frightened him ever so often. It bore its fangs, and lunged down at him—_

* * *

Harry awoke, the sheets drenched in his sweat. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths in order to center himself, regain his bearings. It was just a dream, nothing more. But, he remembered, it was a dream with the green light. He threw off the blankets and picked up a notepad and a pencil on his desk. He strode to the door and walked out into the hall. The house was silent as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen. The front door opened, to Harry's great surprise. Laurence stepped over the threshold and locked the door behind him. Laurence seemed very surprised to see Harry, or anyone really, awake. It shouldn't have surprised him, given that Harry would still wake up from nightmares.

"Long night?" Harry asked.

"Something like that. Paperwork always makes for a long night," Laurence replied, slapping his briefcase, before asking in return, "Bad dream?"

"Odd, not bad."

"How so?" his father asked, intrigued at his son's statement.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course." Laurence led the way to the kitchen. Harry put the kettle on, while his dad went to the refrigerator and pulled out the remains of a sandwich he'd made the day before, along with the carton of milk. Harry brought down a mug for himself and a glass for his dad.

He sat at the table, writing every detail he could remember about his newest dream. Laurence looked upon his son with great concern as he did so, pouring himself some milk. Harry smiled wanly at him. With the last detail written down, he slid the notepad to his father, who took it up with keen interest.

"That is an interesting one," muttered Laurence, setting the notepad down.

A silence fell over them, before Harry decided to tell his father, "I think these dreams are trying to tell me something."

"Tell you something?"

"Like, show me something that's about to happen or something to look for, or what I'm supposed to do," Harry explained, and he recounted the correlation he made between the events like the Zoo Incident, the phone call from Dumbledore and the meeting with McGonagall and the dreams that took place before those events. Laurence listened to Harry, but said nothing.

"So," Laurence finally asked, "when we met the owl in the park, why wasn't there a dream before that happened?"

"I don't know," Harry said honestly. "I can't figure out why nothing happened before that, but I just know that there is some relation between what happens in the dreams and what will happen in real life."

"Like they're trying to show you the future?" asked Laurence sceptically.

"I'm not saying that's what's happening to me. I'm just saying that..." He trailed off. With a sigh, he said, but reluctantly, "Okay, maybe that is what I'm trying to say."

"Harry, that's ridiculous," Laurence chided. "Nobody can predict the future."

"All of us thought it was ridiculous for Magic to exist, but we found out otherwise, didn't we?" Harry asked him.

"But, still," he said, conceding his point, but not agreeing outright.

"Dad, as best as I can figure, this is what's happening here. I know how crazy it sounds, and I'm certain there's another explanation out there, but just let me go with it."

"Okay," his dad said. Reading over everything on the notepad, Laurence said to him, "It seems natural for you to dream about trains tonight. You will have to take one to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"Why the part about your mum, though?"

"I don't know. It might have been just a way to lead me into the rest of the dream. I didn't recognise the other girl, though."

"You never saw the other girl before in your life?"

"Never."

His father looked back at the notepad, going deeper into thought, like one of the cases he used to investigate.

"What about the lion and the snake?"

"I think I might know," Hermione said. Father and son looked over in surprise to find Hermione standing by the refrigerator, a book in her arms, held close to her chest. Her hair was tousled from a night's sleep.

"Hermione, how long have you been up?" Laurence asked her, concerned.

"Not long," she answered. "I just heard you two talking and thought I should see if I could help."

She walked over to Laurence, who wrapped an arm around her and placed a kiss at her temple.

"Now, what did you want to tell us?" Laurence asked her.

She set out the book about Hogwarts and opened on two pages that showed four crests, each bearing a different animal. From left to right, Harry saw a golden lion on a crest of scarlet; a sable badger on bright yellow; an bronze eagle on blue; and a silver snake on dark green.

"Hogwarts is made up of four Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Gryffindor's sigil is the lion. Slytherin's is the snake. It might be that you have to choose between these two Houses."

"Why those? Why not the other two?"

"I don't know."

"Who else were in those Houses?" Laurence asked her.

"The author, Bathilda Bagshot, didn't list anyone who went into any of the Houses. She did write down the characteristics each House values above all others. Nobility, bravery, and daring in Gryffindor; hard work, fairness and loyalty in Hufflepuff; wisdom, studiousness, and creativity in Ravenclaw; and ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness for Slytherin."

"But, there's nothing about who might have been in those Houses?"

"No, there isn't."

This left Harry with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Why did he have to choose between these two Houses in the school? Who could have been there? Who went to which House? Did it have to do with someone he knew? Or, someone he had been related to?

"James and Lily," Harry called out.

"What about them?"

"They must have been in either Gryffindor or Slytherin. Or, possibly, he was in one House and she was in the other."

"That might be," Laurence muttered.

"There was something about the snake I didn't like," Harry admitted. "Its eyes. It was like they were full of the green light."

"Was there something about the lion that bothered you?" Laurence asked, to which Harry shook his head.

"Seems like Gryffindor might be the better of the two Houses," Laurence mused, though he cautioned after, "if this dream can be trusted."

He stood up, closing the book and handing it back to Hermione. "But, that can wait for tomorrow. For now, you kids need some good sleep. Come on, up to bed."

Laurence led both daughter and son up to their respective rooms.

"Tomorrow, you'll be on your way to your new school," Laurence said. "Now, good night."

"Good night, Dad," Harry and Hermione said, as their father gave them both a kiss on their foreheads and nudged them to their bedrooms.

* * *

The morning after, the kids were quick to rise and ate light breakfast. Both parents were ready to see their children to the station. Hedwig waited in her cage as Harry and Hermione brought their belongings downstairs. Laurence and Harry loaded everything in the boot of the car (except for Hedwig, who would be situated between the two children in the back seat).

The drive to King's Cross was silent. Nobody really said a word. Nobody needed to. There would be plenty to say when they saw each other off.

The car pulled up to the station. Laurence popped open the boot as Jean promptly jumped out, followed by Hermione and Harry, who carried Hedwig in her cage. As soon as they found some carts to set their luggage on, the family walked through the station until they reached Platforms 9 and 10. Everyone looked at each other, expecting someone to speak about what they should do.

Hermione decided to stop a passing guard. He looked upon her kindly, but with bemusement.

"Excuse me," she said. She stammered a bit, trying to decide on how she would ask this man how she could find what she was looking for. She couldn't mention where she was heading or the guard would become suspicious, nor could she mention the name of the train she and her family sought. Thus, she settled on asking the guard, "What platform will the 11:00 train be arriving at?"

"I beg your pardon?" the guard asked her, almost as if he believed the girl asked him something horribly offensive.

"Where can we catch the 11:00 train?" Hermione repeated.

"There isn't an 11:00 train today," the guard answered in a huff, before stalking away and muttering, "Bloody time-wasters..."

Hermione turned back to her family, dejected but more worried that she and Harry wouldn't catch the train to Hogwarts than anything. She related to her parents what the guard had told her.

"The train has to be here," Jean said. "They wouldn't say so if it weren't true."

"No, they wouldn't," Laurence concurred. "There must be something we're missing. What would a wizard do right now?"

"Look for other wizards?" Hermione suggested.

His question left the family looking around the station, at everything that fell upon their eyes, but at nothing in particular, really. When Harry looked to his right, he saw a group of redheaded people, most likely a family, led by an older plump woman, who must have been their mother, speaking animatedly about the state of the train station. Walking alongside the mother was a girl. The girl had bright flaming, coppery red hair and chocolate brown eyes. Some of the mother's words caught Harry's ear: "—it's the same as every year, packed with Muggles—"

Harry turned to see where they were going. They were walking up the platform to a pillar in between the two, about three-quarters of the way down. Harry followed them, almost as if he were in a trance. "Come along, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters this way," the mother called.

Harry's father came running up behind him. "Harry, don't wander off like that," he admonished his son. "You know how much I tell you that."

Harry pointed to the family. "The older woman was talking about Muggles," he explained to Laurence.

"You watch them," Laurence advised, and dashed back to Jean and Hermione. "I'll get your mother and sister."

Harry turned back to look at the family. "All right, Percy," the mother said. "You first."

The oldest of the boys moved his cart to face the barrier. Harry noticed that his family came up to join him in watching the family. The boy named Percy pushed the cart and walked briskly toward the barrier. A crowd of tourists walked between the boy named Percy and the rest of his family. When the tourists passed, the boy was gone.

"Where did he go?" Hermione said.

"It's like he vanished," Laurence said in great surprise.

One of the other boys—two of whom were stocky and were most likely twins, while the other was tall and lanky—was about to go toward the barrier.

With an exasperated sigh, Jean said, "It's not like we'll find out how to get there just by gawking at them." She walked toward the family, leaving hers standing uncertain about what she had just said.

"Excuse me?" Jean called out. This got the attention of the older woman, who took on a kind manner toward Jean. The woman's children looked at all of them with curiosity.

"Begging your pardon, madam, but, you see, my husband and I are Muggles, and our children are starting their first year at Hogwarts," Jean explained, quizzically as she didn't know if she were really speaking nonsense to someone who might or might not be involved in a world that she and her family had only learned about within the last few weeks.

The woman took on a much kinder demeanour toward the family, as she understood perfectly well what Jean meant, and joyously replied, "Oh, are they? That's splendid! Ron here will be starting his first year as well."

The tall, lanky boy nodded and smiled slightly. The girl hid behind her mother as Harry looked at her. He tried to smile to make her more comfortable, but that plan backfired as she hid even more, though Harry could tell she was smiling in return.

Jean continued with the mother, "The problem is we're not entirely certain how to...you know."

"How to get onto the platform?" the woman finished. "Oh, not to worry. You're not the first Muggles I've helped through the barrier, and it's simple enough."

"Through?" Laurence asked, slightly unnerved.

"Fred," the woman said to the twin closest to the barrier, "go on through. Show them how it's done."

"I'm Fred, he's George!" the other twin cried.

"Honestly, how can you call yourself our mother?" his brother added indignantly.

"Sorry, George," their mother said, motioning for him to go.

The first twin got himself and his cart into position, and said over his shoulder, "Only joking, I am Fred," before breaking into a run straight at the barrier. Rather than crashing into the solid brick wall, he passed through it as if it were nothing but air. His brother quickly followed suit and passed through just as easily.

"Did they—" Laurence was about to say.

"They passed through to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters," the woman said kindly. "Now, let's have this young girl go first. What's your name, dear?"

"Hermione," she said.

"Well, Hermione," the woman said, "all you need do is run straight at that barrier. Don't stop, and don't worry that you'll crash into it. Best to do it at a run if you're nervous."

Hermione pushed her cart into position. She looked back at her family, then back at the barrier and took a deep breath. She broke into a run. Her family watched as, to great surprise, as she did not collide with bricks and mortar, but instead effortlessly passed through it.

"Right," the older lady said, satisfied with the results. To Harry, she asked, "Now, you, young man, what's your name?"

"Harry," he told her.

"Now, Harry," she said to him, "you go on and you do exactly what your sister did."

Harry rolled his cart into position, just like Hermione had done. The wall appeared intimidating, to him, anyway.

"Good luck!" the girl cried to him.

He looked back at her. She hid away again, but kept her eyes on him. He felt a wave of confidence wash over him as he looked back at the wall. He could do this. This was nothing, probably literally. He pushed against his cart and dashed forward. As the barrier drew closer, as he could make out each brick and their respective flaws, the wall disappeared. He passed through what felt like a tunnel until another wall came up. Harry kept pressing on, and passed through the second wall, coming out onto a new platform. Standing before him, awestruck about her surroundings, was Hermione. She looked up at a gleaming scarlet steam engine, on the front of which was a plaque that read "Hogwarts Express." Harry came up beside her, looking on the steam engine in almost exactly the same manner she regarded the train.

"By Jove," Harry heard his father say. He turned to see Laurence and Jean staring at the train, engrossed with something they never expected to exist, even in their wildest dreams.

The mother that helped them came through the barrier, with the boy named Ron and her little girl close behind her.

"You best find a compartment," she advised them. "Everyone tends to claim them quickly."

The Grangers followed her further down the platform. Harry caught sight of the sign, reading "Platform 9 ¾—Hogwarts Express". The platform bustled with families seeing off their children. Cats weaved through the legs of the families. Owls hooted in their cages. They passed a round-faced boy looked about his bag for something. A much older woman wearing a hat topped with what appeared to be a moth-eaten stuffed vulture stood nearby. She asked the boy, "Where was he last?"

"He was on my trunk," the boy cried. "I can't go without Trevor!"

As they moved on, they saw the twins Fred & George on either side of a boy with dreadlocks holding a box.

"Give us a look, Lee," Fred asked of the boy.

"Come on," George said.

The boy named Lee opened the box slightly. A long hairy leg poked out, felling the air around the box. A brunette girl nearly squealed and backed away, but soon found herself giggling with all her friends.

The Grangers stopped at the third-to-last carriage. Harry went through the carriage and found a compartment near the end, where he put Hedwig so they could keep it. They went back out to the platform. Laurence helped Harry carry his trunk to the compartment. When they got it tucked into the corner, Laurence went out to help Hermione with hers.

"Thank you again for helping us," Jean heard his mother say to the woman who helped them get to the platform. He looked out to see his mother have a conversation with the lady who helped them.

"Think nothing of it," she said to Jean. "I'm always glad to help any family get to Hogwarts if they don't know the way. Yours seem close. Your children, I mean. Twins almost always are. Believe me, I know. You can never get Fred & George apart for anything."

"What? Oh, no, Harry and Hermione aren't twins. Though, honestly, they're more than close enough. No, Hermione is only a few months older than Harry. And as much as we wish otherwise, Harry wasn't born to us. We adopted him as a baby."

"I was wondering why they didn't look alike," the lady said. "Well, it's good he has such a terrific family."

"Thank you. Oh!" Jean cried, as if just remembering something. "I'm so sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Jean Granger."

"Oh, my goodness, no need to apologise," the other woman said. "I'm Molly Weasley. You met my sons, Fred, George and Ron. Their older brother Percy went through the barrier before. And Ginny," Mrs Weasley indicated her little girl, "has yet to go to Hogwarts."

"When will you go to Hogwarts?" Jean asked the girl.

"Next year," Ginny said demurely. To her mother, she asked defiantly, "But why can't I go now, Mummy?"

"Because you're not old enough, Ginny," her mother answered, "just like you said."

Laurence came back with Hermione, carrying her trunk. They set it atop Harry's with a grunt from Laurence. The twins Fred & George came to the compartment, carrying a trunk. Behind them was their younger brother, Ron.

"Begging your pardon—" Fred said.

"Would you mind if—" George began to ask.

"—our brother Ron—"

"—shared this compartment?"

"Not at all," Laurence replied, slightly bewildered by them sharing the same question. The twins set their brother's trunk in the corner opposite Harry and Hermione's. When that was in place, Laurence said to them, "Come on. Let's you two say good-bye to your mother."

Laurence left the compartment. Fred & George stepped out of the compartment as well.

Fred said to Ron, "Ron, come on—"

"—Got to say good-bye to Mum," added George. Ron nodded, set down what looked like a really old rat, and left the compartment. Harry and Hermione followed them out onto the platform. All the families were saying their last goodbyes before the train took them to Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley took hold of Ron and began wiping off some dirt from his nose.

"Mum, stop," Ron cried.

"Do you want to get Sorted with dirt on your nose?" Mrs Weasley asked him, as only a mother would. Ron relented and Mrs Weasley. Percy came up, already dressed in his Hogwarts robes, with a silver badge fastened to his cloak. "Sorry I'm late, Mum," Percy said. "I had to sign in at the Prefects' carriage."

"You're a Prefect, Percy?" asked Fred in mock surprise.

"You should have told us," said George with equally mocking indignation, playfully slapping him on the arm.

"No, wait, he did—"

"That's right, once—"

"Or twice—"

"A minute—"

"_All summer—_"

"I have to get going, Mum," Percy said, pointedly ignoring the remarks of his brothers. He gave her a kiss on her cheek, and walked back, saying over his shoulder, " I'll send Hermes with a letter when I'm there."

Jean bent down and placed a kiss on both of her children's cheeks. "You both," she told her children. "Learn loads of new things. Study hard and get good marks. Make plenty of new friends."

"Most importantly, though," she added. "Look out for each other this year, and every year after that."

"Yes, Mum," the children said, as the both of them took her into a great hug.

Mrs Weasley rounded on Fred & George. She told the two of them, "You two behave yourselves. No shenanigans. If I hear that you two blew up a toilet or what have you—"

"We have never blown up a toilet in our lives," George said defensively.

"But, thank you for the idea," said Fred.

"I am serious," Mrs Weasley further admonished her boys. "Do not get into trouble. Now, get going. You don't want to keep Lee Jordan waiting."

"But—"

"We thought you didn't want us getting into trouble." They dashed off to meet their friend, leaving their mother huffing about their cheek.

"Hermione," Laurence said to her. "You are such a brilliant girl. I know you'll be one of the best students of your year."

"Thanks, Dad," she said bashfully.

"Always do your very best, in everything," he continued. "Help your brother, and stay strong, no matter what anyone says to you."

"I will, Dad," she replied.

With that, Laurence bent down to speak with Harry. He grew more serious. Harry had a very strong feeling that his father was about to talk about what everyone would expect of him.

"People are going to expect a lot from you, son," Laurence told his son gravely, confirming his expectations.

"I know," Harry said.

"All I can say is that you can't let them get to you. Don't let anyone raise you on a pedestal just so they can tear you down."

"I don't even know what that means."

Laurence snorted at his son's unexpected levity. "What I mean to say is that you should always remember who you are. You're James and Lily's son, yes; but you're also our son. We're your family. It'll get to be tough, having to deal with everyone thinking you're this amazing individual just because of what you went through as a baby, but don't let that attention get to your head. You are better than that. Show them that you are."

"Okay, Dad," Harry said.

"And don't forget, if you're having trouble with anything at all, you can always talk to Hermione. You never have to deal with anything alone. Ever."

"Yes, Dad."

"Look out for her as well. And last but not least, learn lots. Get good marks. Make good friends."

"I will." Harry threw his arms around his father's neck.

Laurence patted his son's back before standing back up. "Now, say thank you to Mrs Weasley for helping us get here."

"Thank you for helping us, Mrs Weasley," Harry and Hermione said.

"You're very welcome," the lady replied fondly. "I hope the both of you have a wonderful first term."

The little girl named Ginny was looking on Harry with a queer expression now, as if she recognised who he really was for some odd reason. Her eyes widened as she saw his scar. Harry brushed his hair down to hide it and avoid any further attention that might keep him from getting to Hogwarts.

The train's whistle sounded, causing everyone to make their way onto the train.

"We'll write you a letter once we're all settled," Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

"Goodbye!" Harry shouted.

"Mummy, do you know who that was?" the girl named Ginny cried. Harry got onto the train before she could cause a scene. The moment they got to their compartment, the train lurched forward and began the journey up to Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stuck their heads out of the window and waved goodbye to their parents. Harry saw Ginny running after the train, waving and giggling madly before the train gained speed and left the station.

Harry and Hermione watched out the window as the train wended its way through the city and out into the country. Once they were outside of the city, the siblings turned their attention to their new schoolmate.

"So, I'm Ron Weasley," the boy named Ron said. "Sorry I didn't get to introduce myself properly."

"No bother," replied Hermione. "I'm Hermione Granger, and this is my brother Harry."

"Hi," greeted Harry cheerfully.

"Brother?" asked Ron, slightly confused. "You don't look alike."

"Adopted," Harry answered simply. "My parents died when I was a baby."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ron said. Harry could tell that Ron genuinely meant it, unlike that blond git Malfoy back in Diagon Alley. He felt grateful for that.

"It's all right," said Harry. "The Grangers have always been my family."

"Who were your parents?" asked Ron. "Your birth parents, I mean?"

At this question, Harry showed reluctance toward answering him. Hermione could sense his unease, and she said to him, "Harry, you should tell him. He's bound to find out sooner or later."

Harry knew his sister was right. Though he didn't want to say his name aloud, he knew he needed to explain to Ron who he was. So, entirely on impulse, he brought his hand to his forehead and brushed back his hair, revealing his scar.

Ron went pale in surprise. His eyes went wide and he exclaimed, "No way!"

"Could you maybe not—?" Harry began to ask, before Ron put his fears at ease.

"I won't say a word," Ron assured him. "Not unless you want me to. It's just—it's bloody incredible. I've met Harry Potter and I'm sharing a compartment with him too," adding a bit nervously, "and his sister."

Hermione smiled slightly. Harry brushed his hair back over his forehead.

Outside the compartment, an old woman pushed a trolley full of sweets and drinks. She poked her head in and asked, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Ron brought out what appeared to be a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. "No thanks, I'm all set," he said glumly.

Harry had a few Galleons and Sickles left over from their visit to Diagon Alley. He asked the lady for three of everything, not knowing what she had. He had hoped for a Mars bar, but it didn't look like wizards were familiar with Muggle sweets. Harry was opening a package of Pumpkin Pasties while Hermione was about to taste a Cauldron Cake.

"Corned beef," Ron said indignantly, taking the cellophane off his sandwich. "She knows how much I hate corned beef."

"Why would your mother make you a sandwich she knows you don't like?" asked Hermione.

"It's a bit hard to keep track of everything when you have seven kids," Ron said.

"We only saw five of you," Harry said.

"Bill and Charlie have left Hogwarts already," Ron explained. "Bill was Head Boy his year. Charlie made Quidditch captain for his House. Percy was named a prefect this year. Fred & George mess around a lot, but they get good marks, and everyone likes them loads. When I get there, I might do all those things, but it won't be as impressive as all of them because they did it first."

"It can't be that bad," Hermione said, trying to reassure him. "They'd still be proud of you."

"Yeah, they would be, but it's just as bad I don't get anything new. I've got Bill's robes, Charlie's wand, and Percy's rat." He held up his rat in a very begrudging manner. "Scabbers is his name. Mum and Dad got Percy a new owl when he made prefect. They gave me Scabbers."

Harry didn't know how he could cheer up Ron, so he tried the simplest way he could think of.

"Why don't you have a pasty?" Harry offered.

"No thanks," Ron said. "I'm all right."

"Come on," Harry pressed. "Have a pasty."

Ron smiled and took it. The children spoke about the Wizarding world and Harry and Hermione's discovery that they were a witch and wizard in a very lively manner, while Scabbers feasted on the corned beef sandwich. Harry picked up a box full of what he thought were jelly beans.

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans?" Harry asked, reading the box.

"Yeah, and they mean every flavour," Ron explained. "There are a lot of good ones, like chocolate and peppermint, even mint and marmalade. But, there's also flavours like spinach, liver and tripe. My brother George swears he got a bogey-flavoured bean once."

Hermione took one that looked like it would be a cherry or possibly tomato flavoured bean. She popped it into her mouth, but quickly went red and sweaty. She spat it out and chugged on her bottle of soda.

"Chili pepper," she said, fanning her mouth. Both boys laughed at her misfortune. "Shut up! It's not funny!"

"It is a little bit," Harry said. He picked up a box that read "Chocolate Frog."

"Are these real frogs?" Harry asked.

"No, it's just a spell," Ron answered. "You just need to be quick about it, though."

Harry opened the box to find a moving frog made of chocolate. It jumped out to a great height, and Harry caught it just as fast. He opened his hand to find the frog stopped moving. Ron looked impressed at Harry's catch. Harry triumphantly ate the from and looked back at the box to see a card with a wizard's face waving at him. The wizard had long silver hair and a crooked nose, on which sat a pair of half-moon glasses. A banner below fluttered with the name "Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh, yeah, you get cards with it too," Ron added. "Who did you get?"

"Dumbledore," Harry replied, handing the card to Hermione. "So, that's what he looks like."

Hermione gazed at the card with interest. "He does seem as distinguished as we thought."

"You spoke to Dumbledore?" Ron asked.

"Not in person," Harry said, and he explained about their phone call a month hence.

"So...he spoke to you through the fellytone?" Ron asked, utterly confused.

"Yes," Hermione answered, "only it's called a telephone. It's a Muggle device we use to communicate over long distances."

"I bet my dad would be really interested to see that," said Ron. "Muggle things like that always fascinate him."

Harry looked at the card again, only to find that the picture of Dumbledore was gone. He stated as such in great surprise.

"You can't expect him to stay there all day, can you?" Ron answered.

"Muggle photographs stay perfectly still," Hermione told him. "They don't move at all."

"That's so weird," Ron said.

Harry picked up another Chocolate Frog when he found a real one beside the box. Or, on a second look, it was a toad.

"Isn't this that other boy's toad?" Harry asked.

"Probably," said Hermione.

"If I had a toad, I'd lose him as quick as I could," Ron said. "Mind you, I'm not one to talk, with Scabbers and all."

"We should take it back to him," Harry said.

"I guess," Ron said noncommittally.

The three kids agreed that one of them should stay in the compartment and keep an eye on their things. Harry and Hermione left, he holding the toad as she didn't want to even look at the creature. As they began their walk along the carriage, Harry heard a snotty voice call, "Oi! You!"

Harry turned and saw the blond boy called Malfoy, along with two other boys Harry could have sworn were gorillas made to dress like humans, surrounding him and Hermione. He strode to meet her, as Malfoy said, "What do you think you're doing here?"

"None of your business," Hermione said simply.

"None of your business," Malfoy mocked. "Then, take it somewhere else, like off of this train."

"What's going on here?" the voice of Percy Weasley called. The Granger siblings saw the round-faced boy was following him. Well, at least they wouldn't have to look all over the train for him.

"Telling this Mudblood to get lost," Malfoy sneered. Harry hadn't heard that phrase before, but he very quickly thought it bore nothing positive in any way.

"The girl can be here if she wants," Percy admonished Malfoy and his friends. "Let her pass. Now."

"We were only looking for the boy with you," Hermione said to Percy. "Is this his toad?"

"Trevor!" the boy exclaimed, adding, "Thank you!" before he dashed off.

Draco glared all the while at her. Hermione matched it. Ron stood at the door to their compartment, watching the scene unfold. As the boy and Percy left, Percy the Prefect said to Malfoy, "And do not use that word."

Percy left and went to the next carriage forward. Malfoy and his two cronies glowered at Harry and turned their attention on him. Malfoy matched his gaze, while the other boys glared down on him.

"Don't think a prefect will be around all the time to save your hide, or hers," Malfoy told him. "What's your name?"

"What does it matter to you?" Harry asked him.

"I just want to know the name of the people I should avoid the most."

"I guess you'll just have to find out later," Harry said, nudging past Malfoy. One of the larger boy stopped Harry from going any farther, grabbing him by the arm, hard enough he could have broken it in two.

Malfoy squinted his eyes as he gazed at Harry's forehead. "What's that on your forehead?"

"Just a bump I got this morning," Harry muttered. He tried to go back to the compartment, but the boy beside Malfoy still kept him from getting any farther. One of the larger boys grabbed Harry's arm and used his other hand to brush back his hair, though the boy didn't so much brush his hair back as shove his hand into Harry's forehead in the imitation of brushing. Harry saw Malfoy and his friends take on awestruck expressions as they goggled at his scar. The boy let go of Harry's arm in shock. Harry rubbed his arm as the sting of the larger boy's grip began to dissipate.

"You're Harry Potter!" Malfoy shouted in surprise. The rest of the carriage turned and looked at Harry with the greatest surprise.

"What of it?"

"It's an honour to meet you," said Malfoy, becoming more obsequious to Harry. Harry could tell he liked this Malfoy git a lot less, especially when he was kissing up to Harry.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," he said, motioning to the two larger boys, indicating the latter boy was the one who nearly broke Harry's arm, "and I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron snorted at the mention. "Oh, you think my name is funny?" the blond boy snapped. "Well, I don't need to ask you yours. My father told me that you can always tell a Weasley by their red hair, ratty clothes, and that there are more of them than they can afford."

Ron glared at Malfoy and his face went slightly pink. Hermione's hands balled into fists as her anger at this boy grew.

Malfoy turned back to Harry, obsequious again. He told Harry, "It would be a good idea for you to make good friends before you get to Hogwarts, Potter. You'll see soon enough that some wizarding families are better than others. I can help you there."

Malfoy held out his hand to Harry. Harry looked at it with revulsion. His eyes met Hermione's and he imagined what would happen to the two of them if he befriended this boy. How she would see him, how his parents would see him, how this boy already looked down on her and his family like they were only barely civilised.

"Apologise," Harry said, staring at Malfoy squarely in the eye.

"Apologise for what?" Malfoy asked, taken aback by Harry's statement.

"For how you treated my sister," Harry said plainly. On Malfoy's expression of confusion, Harry pointed to Hermione, and said, "Her."

Malfoy looked at Hermione with a mixture of shock and disgust. Everyone watched the confrontation nervously, no one knowing if they ought to step in and break it up or not.

Pointing to Ron, Harry added, "And apologise for what you said about his family."

Crabbe and Goyle appeared as though they ready to clobber Harry, Ron and Hermione on basic principle for their insolence. Malfoy had a pink tinge about his pale pointed face. He bore a stony expression as he took back his hand.

"Looks like I met one of the bad families, then," Harry said, walking past Malfoy, followed quickly by Ron and Hermione. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked on them with unbridled hatred.

They stepped back into their compartment. Once inside, they shut the door and drew the blinds, so as not to be disturbed by anyone else.

"The Malfoys are some of the worst around," Ron said, once Harry closed the door. "They were one of the first families to turn to You-Know-Who. And when the War ended, they said they were bewitched to do it. Everyone says otherwise, but they can't really prove it."

An uneasy silence fell over the compartment. Ron went about eating a pasty before Harry spoke up.

"Ron," Harry asked, broaching the subject as carefully as he could think how, "the Four Houses, which of them are you hoping you'll be sorted into?"

"Oh," Ron wondered, although if it was obvious he hadn't put too much thought into the matter until now. "Well, I suspect I'll be put in Gryffindor. All of my family went there. So, I expect I might follow tradition. Don't think I'm smart enough for Ravenclaw. And I wouldn't want to be a Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff doesn't make many noteworthy wizards."

"What about Slytherin?" asked Hermione.

Ron grew pale, paler than his complexion should have allowed. "Oh, you don't want to go into Slytherin, not unless you really, really mean to," Ron warned.

"Why not?"

"There's not a single witch or wizard that went into Slytherin and didn't turn bad," Ron said. "They say that's where You-Know-Who got Sorted."

Harry felt the breath catch in his throat. That was why the dream showed him the lion and the snake. Both his parents must have been in Gryffindor. You-Know-Who, Lord Voldemort, was a Slytherin. No matter what, he couldn't end up there. He could not let himself be Sorted into the House of his parents' killer.

* * *

A few hours after their last conversation, the train pulled into the station. No further discussion was made about the Sorting or of their encounter with Malfoy, speaking only about other Chocolate Frog cards. The children had dressed in their uniforms. They left their trunks and pets in their compartment and filed out of the train carriage. Everyone around them spoke excitedly about what they could expect in the future term. A large figure stood at the end of the platform, swinging a lantern to and fro. Harry heard Hagrid's voice calling out over the rabble of the students, "Firs'-years, over here! All firs'-years, come on over this way!"

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, Hagrid smiled, his beetle black eyes glinting in the light of his lantern, a flowery pink umbrella in his other hand. "Hello, Harry, Hermione." Taking notice of Ron, Hagrid said, "You're one of the Weasleys, ain't you?"

"Yes, sir," Ron said, slightly embarrassed.

"You'll do fine here, lad," Hagrid told him. "'Specially now you have two great friends."

Ron smiled slightly. Hagrid whistled shrilly and waving his arm in his direction. "Firs'-years, this way, or you'll be left behind!"

Hagrid led the children down from the station. They walked down a set of wooden stairs, down to a cove lined with pines. Sticking out from the shore was a jetty, moored to which were several dinghies, each of which had a lit lantern dangling from their bow.

"Four to a boat," Hagrid called out. Harry, Ron and Hermione got into one with the round-faced boy, who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom. The rest of the first-years got into the boats, Malfoy and his two friends got into a boat with a girl who had a face like a pug. Hagrid boarded his own boat. With a tap of his umbrella, he cried, "Right! Here we go!"

The boats floated away from the dock. All the kids looked around wildly in bewilderment. The boats moved across the water. As the boats moved out to the Lake's greater body, they saw the castle.

Hogwarts Castle. It gleamed brightly against the night sky as the stars twinkled just as brightly in the black night sky. Every one of the first-years gasped in awe as they saw the castle for the first time. He heard one girl murmur, "It's amazing," as she gawked in wonder.

"Much better than the picture in the book, isn't it?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

"That's putting it lightly," she replied without taking her eyes off it.

The boats crept across the water. Each boat moved into a single-file formation as they flowed into a cave curtained with vines of ivy. The fleet traveled through a dark tunnel, where they docked at a stone jetty. Everyone filed out of the boats and onto dry land. Hagrid led them up the stone steps on a grass field glistening with the dew of the evening. The gamekeeper strode across the ground, the children scampering to keep up.

They reached a pair of great oak doors crossed with iron bars. Lions, badgers, eagles and snakes of all sizes were carved into the wood. The front of the castle was decorated with a great many stone knights, each wielding either spears, axes, or maces. Hagrid knocked on the castle doors three times. He stepped back as the doors opened on a dark figure.

Down the steps glided a man dressed entirely in black with a sallow face framed by a curtain of greasy black hair. He stared out at the new students with cold black eyes and said to all of them in a silky voice, "Welcome to Hogwarts."

* * *

AN: Enjoy Chapter 7. Have a Happy Labor Day (if you live in the States)! Everyone else, enjoy the day when we'd ale going to Hogwarts.


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